


Serendethity

by Smokeprincess



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Anal, BDSM, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Drug Use, Drunk Sex, F/M, Face Slapping, Humiliation, Jealousy, Kink, Light Bondage, Love Triangles, Multiple Orgasms, Porn With Plot, Vaginal Sex, will add tags as i write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-23 22:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 71,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20347801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smokeprincess/pseuds/Smokeprincess
Summary: You were just going to have a cigarette outside the venue after a bad show, and by chance, Toki was out to see the same one. You're invited to the chance of the lifetime: To see Mordhaus and the rest of the best Death Metal band in the world! But the party doesn't really stop behind the citadel walls, and time bleeds together, and you grow closer and closer to Toki and Skwisgaar. The rivalry has always been electric between the two but your turning up exacerbates the situation. Will feelings be hurt? Do they have feelings? You know you sure do! But the sex is good and the music is better, and who doesn't love to be the center of attention?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a little embarrassed. I've never written anything this self-indulgent, and I haven't written anything in particular in a number of years. But like, also no regrats. My death metal dating sim dream. 
> 
> AUish. Less absurd and cartoony of a universe. No porn in this chapter lmao

You met Toki Wartooth in the parking lot outside of your University’s event stadium. 

Staring stupidly, you knew it was Toki Wartooth. He had one out of five of the most recognizable faces on the planet. 

Members of Dethklok didn’t get mobbed in public despite this, either, it seemed, and right then was no exception.

Once, you’d heard a stupid rumour that anybody who got within ten feet of the bandmates would be wasted by the rifle of an out of sight Klokateer. Even while you stared dumbly at Toki, jaw slightly agape, you could almost feel a little red light centering itself on your forehead.

There wasn’t any, but the spot between your eyes tingled so much from the paranoia you had to rub it, and nervously shuffle out of the spot you’d been in. It felt a little ridiculous, but was it? It felt truer that you couldn’t both have your head, and also be this close to Toki mother-riffing Wartooth. From where you were standing, you could see that his hair looked longer than in the interviews, as it swayed against his middle back, and you watched as he brushed his overgrown locks away from his eyes, chatting amongst his mates.

You had come out after the show – a gig put on by the Student’s Union to invite in some local culture (in this case, some nineties grunge rip-off band) – to have a few drinks and maybe a toke while you and your friends had a gas cracking jokes at the event’s expense; maybe shoot some shit about class and your jack off professors. 

Instead, your friends had decided to stand in the merch line, as one of the two wanted to see if the drummer of the shitty grunge band was ‘available’ to hang out with her for the rest of the night. In her apartment. 

The other friend was there for support if the first one was rejected.

So, you were out by a large stone ashtray that boarded the parking lot and the entrance by yourself, waiting by the doors. You’d taken a cigarette to keep yourself busy, but you hadn’t even done so much as raise it to your lips before Toki had walked out of the same double doors you had. Walked right out. Right out of the exit doors. Of your school. Toki. The real Toki.

And he was wearing one of the shitty grunge bands t-shirts.

He was with some people you didn’t recognize; around a similar age, but not the rest of Dethklok. They weren’t Klokateers or Paparazzi that you could make out. Just regular folk, though they clearly knew him like friends. Your jaw closed as you narrowed your eyes a little suspiciously. The logical thing would be that you were actually wrong, and that Toki wasn’t here, because why would he be? Your brain tried to work it out, because while there was no way – no way! – the resemblance was madly striking. 

You’d had a Dethklok poster attached to the wall of your bachelor apartment since you’d moved out on your own. You were as mad a fan as any, let’s face it; Dethklok was the best band in the world. Metal had been a genre favourite of yours since early middle school, and when Dethklok walked onto the scene, the effect had been magnetic.

A siren’s pull, you ate up every record. You weren’t the only one either, the Dethklok frenzy had always been real.

Like any mad fan, you also had thought of a hundred and one scenarios where your favourite band might stumble across your path, in Midwest midtown middle of nowhere, and how you might react when you saw them. How smooth you might be;

_ ‘Hey? Nathan- Can I call you Nathan?'_ You’d slap the mighty lead on his massive deltoid. _‘Mind if I have an autograph bud?’_ Yeah, something like that. Or, _‘Mr. Pickles, Sir, y’know, I too am from a state where if the cattle don’t’ outnumber us, the corn sure do, and I was wondering if I could get a quick pic for my Facebook-‘_ Oh, yeah, they’d totally relate.

Yeah, It all sounded dumb in your head, and now, in person, with possibly that very opportunity, you were even dumber. 

Toki wasn’t facing you exactly; he was talking to one of the strangers, but you had a good three-quarter shot of his face. It was the guy to Toki’s left that noticed you looking first, and with a gentle nudge the stranger-on-the-left nodded your way with his chin. 

When Toki turned his whole face towards you, you felt your body flush hot and cold at the same time, and your heart started pumping like you’d been dropped in the middle of a marathon. Hysterical excitement flooded your stomach the way only fanaticism could, and you were absolutely, one hundred thousand million trillion percent times sure that THAT, was Toki Wartooth, rhythm guitarist of Dethklok. 

Everything seemed to move like it was thrust underwater, working in slow motion, because Toki was looking your way, and then he was raising his hand, and waving, trying to coax you over to the group, but you felt entirely cemented to your spot. 

_No way,_ you thought, dumbfounded.

Then, he was walking towards you. 

_No way!_ It was both ludicrous, and exciting. _Maybe I can get him to sign – sign my ass, or something. Isn’t that what crazy young women ask famous band members to sign? No way. That’s not him anyhow. No fucking way._

“Hello,” He greeted you, his accent strong, the sound of it tickling up the back of your neck. He had a beer in his hand that you hadn’t noticed before. Had he just been watching the show, drinking a beer, like any normal person? You could see it in your mind’s eye; a spread in a tabloid magazine. A picture of Toki enjoying a weak beer with a bunch of red neck kids at the back of the University’s crumbling stadium. ‘Celebrities!’ Would be stamped across the top, the photo framed in pink. Along the bottom the text would read, ‘They’re just like us!’. “Is there somethings I ams able to help you with?” The real Toki, standing right in front of you then, asked.

“I-“ You gasped, shocked that were able to speak at all. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare I’m just…” You laughed a little nervously, unable to help yourself. “I mean, you’re not actually-“ Your cigarette was lit but you didn’t remember doing it, you sucked it down out of habit. Something to do with your hands before he noticed them trembling with fanatical giddy. 

“Toki?” He interrupted, smiling a little drunkenly, his clear blue eyes turning up into happy little half moons, the way a cat’s might. “Ja, that’s me,” his th’s charmingly softened into d’s. The effect was instant, and you began to mirror his smile, his presence lulling a sense of ease over you.

“That’s so cool,” you managed, and he straightened a little. You felt as though you’d blown a little pride right into him with the words. While altogether that felt entirely unreal on its own, another voice answered from over to your own left. “Toki!” The sound was familiar. One you’d heard often as a companion to Toki’s on radio interviews or late-night talk shows during promotional weeks. 

The Swede crossed into your periphery and you got tunnel vision. Two members of Dethklok had somehow spawned onto your redneck hole of Campus. Grabbing onto the ashtray, you shook your head a little bit, and Toki took a step towards you to place a steadying hand on your shoulder. “Uh oh! Has you been drinking?” Goosebumps lit up all over your skin from the contact. Everything was unreal. _Could_ you be drunk? This whole thing seemed to be all out of a dream.

You shook your head, “No!” Well yes, you had, but not enough to be sloshed. “No, sorry I’m just, wow. Wow! Skwisgaar Skwigelf and Toki Wartooth? Are Nathan Explosion and Pickles here too? Murderface? You got Murderface hiding behind the wall or something?” You looked from side to side, expecting to see the other three come walking out from around the same corner that Skwisgaar had, but nobody followed. 

Skwisgaar looked down at you from his towering height, and his gaze cut right through you. You were immediately reminded that you were in the presence of some powerful people by their own right, and you swallowed dryly. He was as impressive as you imagined, his striking bone structure catching the amber lights posted around the lot delectably, his platinum hair shimmering like it was under the soft filter of some seventies film. 

He didn’t say anything to acknowledge you, blowing over what you’d said entirely, and instead regarded his attentions back towards Toki. “You have been here all night?” He asked, an eyebrow raising as he looked over the infrastructure. 

It wasn’t a great sight, and you’d be the first to admit it. Underfunded as the school was, the event stadium was low on the list of priorities next to the new auxiliary gym that’d been plotted out. 

“Ja,” Toki said, as he pulled back from you and stood a little straighter, as though measuring himself up against Skwisgaar’s own impressive height. You were struck with the impression of big and little brother, pulling out measuring sticks. “Garagekids was playings and I wanted to see.” He defended himself. 

A scoff left you then, the music snob in you slamming through the crust of your amazement. “You like Garagekids?” You interjected automatically, your musical opinion rising to the forefront of your fan-founded shock. 

Toki blinked down at you a few times before he reached into one of his back pockets, fishing out a cheap jewel case that had been broken along the spine and taped back together. “Sure Toki does! I picked up their albums when they busked in the capital, and have been big fan ever since! Look!” He flipped the jewel case around and showed it proudly your way, taking a drink of his beer with his other hand. The back had been signed by the full band, from what you could tell. 

Another smile crept on your face. “Huh,” you said, looking back up at him. “No shit.” So, the shitty grunge band had lured Toki Wartooth in. You could almost eat your cigarette for that. Speaking of which, you inhaled once more, flicking off the inch of ash that had built up along the shaft. 

“Yes, shit!" Toki answered, and you laughed. "They really cool!”

Skwisgaar motioned with his head at Toki, quietly interrupting. “Let’s go, Toki, you promised Murderface you’d be back by midnight to plays Holdem at Texas, and he has not shut up since midnight-oh-one. I’ve fetched you, now come.” He stated, and a large frown crossed Toki’s face. Folding his arms over his chest as well, Toki shook his head disobediently and you caught the way Skwisgaar’s eyes rolled at the exact same time. “Why not? You have signed shitty homemade mixtape, you has-“ he leaned in and sniffed at the air around Toki. “Several drinks.” Skwisgaar made a sound of mixed annoyance and disapproval at the back of his throat. “Come play cards, so I can gets some sleep.” 

“But Toki is making new friends!” Toki threw an arm about your shoulders and pulled you off and away from the ashtray. He kept the firm grip of his forearm across the front of your shoulders as he pulled your back up against his side, his wrist laying across a collarbone. You could feel the compact muscle of his abdomen below his band shirt against your shoulder blades and the small of your back. 

Automatically, you puffed on your burning cigarette again as the anxiety built, letting the swirl of nicotine mellow out the exciting confusion. “See? And she’s totally cools!”

It certainly wasn’t the worst moment of your life, as his large, calloused fingers pressed firmly into your opposite shoulder to keep you tucked in, like a personal security blanket. The, ‘I don’t have to go home’ blanket. At the same time, the frosty way Skwisgaar stared down his nose at you made your blood cold. There was a distance to them when he’d first looked your way, and now all of a sudden they were very present, and deeply irritated. 

His nostrils flared and you could tell he was inhaling his patience back. It was three in the morning now, you knew, and you wondered how long he had been out hunting for his friend. Or, at least you assumed they were friends. Bandmates weren’t just coworkers, were they? You debated in your head while you tried to put aside the way Skwisgaar turned his gaze on you for a second time.

This time Skwisgaar didn’t look through you entirely. His eyes first met your chest, then he looked up over entirely from head to toe, once. Undressing, perhaps. Imagining the mystery that might lie underneath your hoodie and jeans. It left you pressing your thighs closer together, both excited by the way he turned his interest on you, as well as a little nervous. The two feelings bled pleasantly together; a little anxiety and a little heat.

“Then bring her.”

The statement made your ears ring. Her? You? “Make friends with her, at home.” 

Skwisgaar sounded quite final and you looked between them rapidly. You wondered if Toki could feel the way your heart pounded hard beneath his forearm. 

“Wait-“ you began, but Toki interjected.

His disposition lifted easily with the statement, and you felt the tension release in his body, his grip on you loosening a little, as he interrupted. “Oh ja, sures, I just bring her with! Maybe Murderface wants to play with her too.” 

A thought flashed behind your eyes then, and Skwisgaar must have seen it too, his brow twitching curiously. 

Groupie status.

You were within a minute of reaching groupie status. Somehow, just by standing outside the door, waiting on your friends to break out the spliffs, you were being handed a magic key. Any and all thoughts that you and your mates had, ragging on poormen's rock groups, throwing words around about the squealing girls that bent over the front rails, were quickly and immediately packed away. The chance of a lifetime opened up, like a magic spell, and you were eager to reach out and take it. 

Whatever the opportunity might be – shit, you might meet all fucking five of them!

“Sure,” you answered, though nobody was really talking to you in the first place – nobody even asked your name so far. “Yeah, I’ll come.” You tried to say it normally, though your voice pitched a little at the end like a puberty-ridden teenager’s, and you cleared your throat. “It’ll be sick.”

“Brutals!” Toki pulled his arm back and gave you a firm slap on your upper back. A fraternal move, and the strength in his arm sent you forwards somewhat. You stepped out to catch yourself, and at the same time, Skwisgaar had caught you by one shoulder to steady you. He made a sound of disapproval, his tongue clicking off his teeth, and looped his own arm around you, and took you his way. 

“I’m sorry,” Toki started, tossing his beer off behind him. There was a thwack and an ‘oi!’ but you didn’t see who it hit, as Skwisgaar was redirecting you off towards the direction he’d come from. Your feet moved easily, ready to be lead to wherever they had to take you. Skwisgaar held you around the back like any man might his date, and he brushed his thumb against the back of your shoulder. It was an unexpected intimate gesture, and you felt that anything you’d heard about him on any of those gossip forums was liable to be true. He sure had a way about him. A way that made your nipples hard and pants wet.

Shit, this was going to be real. “Toki, why don’t I handle her since you haves become out of the control in this state.” You could hear the smirk in his voice and Toki came up on your other side.

“Ams not that drunk!” He retorted, irritated, and full of rival spitfire. He looked between you and Skwisgaar’s arm bitterly, like he had been swindled out of something, and you entertained the idea that he was wanting to be leading you like any man might his date. 

“Ja, and you are also King of Guitarplanet, the home of the best guitarists.”

Toki perked. “Oh, thank yous Skwisgaar-“

“Ha! And yous believed it! You are so stupid, Toki,” Skwisgaar jeered, and Toki reacted again, and the bickering would continue all the way back to Mordhaus, the three of you leaving the stadium doors and it's glowing amber lights behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Will get porny quick, but also like, gotta build that plot. That slow burn. That good shit. I hope y'all liked it aaand I hope you'll read more? Maybe?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet the group, sort of, and Skwisgaar cashes in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW chapter! Did I say it'd get porny quick?

You were more than half lit by the time you arrived at the front steps to Mordhaus. 

Toki had been at the venue to party, after all (and honestly, so had you) before Skwisgaar had come to pick him up like some Hollywood Handler. Carrying the party spirit into the Dethshuttle, Toki fished out bottles of top shelf that he shared between both you and him. Skwisgaar joined in, but less enthusiastically, though he drank his fair share each time a bottle passed his way. 

You, trying your best to not look like Dorothy plucked out of the middle of Kansas, indulged yourself more than you might have normally. The trip was otherwise uneventful, beyond jokes and banter between the close guitarists, and every now and again, Skwisgaar would send some subtle pass your way. Mostly, they talked about the guitar, or the poker game that Toki had missed. 

On the trip, you’d tried to tell them your name, but it was spoken over as they grew a little drunker and a little louder. It was all fine, you thought. You were just glad to be there.

Willy Wonka had handed you a golden ticket, and you were the only kid on the tour. 

Mordhaus was larger than life; nothing like you had thought it was like on TV – not even MTV cribs could convey the enormity of the vaulted ceilings and the awe-inspiring way it loomed over everything below its towers and parapets. If the rest of Dethklok hadn’t been there, you would have been happy to lose yourself a little in the yawning archways far above you. 

But they were there. All of them.

Nathan and Pickles were sitting around a round table in the grandiose foyer, winding down their night with their own drinks, and Murderface had been sitting too, but once the three of you crossed into the hall, he was up and out of his seat in a minute, the chair itself toppled to the floor with the momentum. 

No one seemed to notice that you were there; Murderface bowling almost right through you to get to Toki, who had moved to stand behind you like you were his human shield. Grabbing a fistful of the front of Toki’s shirt, Murderface lifted him up somewhat, their faces close together as he went off about the missed play-date. 

Toki shoved Murderface, encouraging him to let go. “You totally bailed, man,” Murderface complained. “I bought new cards so we wouldn’t be missing any this time and everything!” Digging into one of his shorts’ pockets, he pulled a pack out and slapped it up against the middle of Toki’s chest. “You’re such a douchebag, you know, I even got – I got pickles to pick up a cheese plate!”

Nathan nodded agreeably behind the group, looking at the cheese plate that had been put out in the center of the table. “He did go out and do that, Toki,” his voice full of gravel and fatherly disappointment. 

_Do you really eat cheese plates during poker, though?_ You kept to yourself, giddy and starstruck. The familial atmosphere between them made you feel good. They were all clearly close, even in the argument. 

“Oh, well, ams very sorry Murderface, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” Toki apologized, sincerely, and Murderface scowled and grumbled. “And sorry to Pickle, too, I guess.” 

Pickles shrugged nonchalantly, reaching forward to grab a cube of cheese. “It’s fine.” 

“I never said my feelings were hurt,” Murderface protested, rolling his tongue into his cheek in a petulant sort of way. You bit on the inside of your own cheek to try and stop from smiling. This was all great.  
You were within an arm’s length of William Murderface. You’d had both Skwisgaar’s and Toki’s arms around you. Nathan and Pickles were sharing your air. If the night ended right here and now, you’d be happy.

Pickles, who seemed content to have his beer and his cheese like any proper midwesterner, finally looked at you. It was like the first time he had seen you. He lifted his drink and pointed a finger at you. “Hey, uh, who’s the chick anyway?” 

Then everybody’s eyes were on you. If you were supposed to be a groupie, which you sort of thought that’s what you were there for, you didn’t really look the part. You’d gone to the venue expecting a regular night, so, as a result, you were dressed regularly. You’d done your make up a bit to fit the scene, but otherwise you felt quite plain. You hadn’t been going to impress anybody. 

“This is….” Skwisgaar began, gesturing your way in front of the others. He furrowed his brow, realizing then that he had never really asked what your name was. 

Toki looked at Skwisgaar, frowning and he shook his head a little. “Ha! Who is stupids now? This is,” He introduced you then, and you felt happily surprised when he said your name. So, he’d heard you, when you had tried to tell them earlier. The idea tickled you, your stomach somersaulting. It was…nice. 

Skwisgaar shrugged noncommittally, as though he didn’t care. “Ja, sure. Toki’s picked her up outside some shit-hole school.”

“Go Coyotes,” you mumbled to yourself, pumping your fist halfheartedly into the air. You made Pickles laugh, who was in the middle of taking a drink. He choked on it, some liquid fizz spilling out his nose as he did so, snorting more as he grabbed the bridge of his nose, eyes tightening at the stinging cola. 

Nathan checked his wrist, as if there was a watch there, before he stood up. “Well, nice to meet you and everything,” he said, somewhat your way, but mostly he seemed uninterested. “But I’ve really gotta get some shut eye, it’s like four in the morning now.” You felt a little disappointed, wondering if you’d get the opportunity to get them all to sign something of yours. Your cigarette pack, if you had to. 

Murderface made a sound of disbelief as he pivoted on his heel, throwing his arms out. “But they just got back! We can finally play! I took out fifty bucks out at the Seven-Eleven for this!”

Nathan rolled his eyes as he tucked his chair in behind him. “Yeah, but we were supposed to play like, four hours ago. Here,” He tossed the can of beer he’d been drinking your way. It sprayed across the floor as the can twisted in the air and you clumsily caught it, getting more beer on yourself than anything. When you turned the can upright, palm a little sticky, you shook it and could hear a good quarter left. You looked around the rim. Nathan’s mouth had been on this. Could you get his DNA cloned or something? “You take that off my hands.” You nodded, dumbly, clutching tightly to it.

Nathan gave a two-finger salute to the group before he parted, while Murderface crossed his arms again, moving back over to his overturned chair to kick it. He was sulking. 

“My new friend cans take his spot!” Toki proposed, and Murderface shook his head.

“Toki, Toki. Women can’t play poker, they make the whole game suck because of how bad they are, and you always have to re-explain the rules to them,” he explained, and Skwisgaar made a sound of exasperation behind you. 

“Sures, yous not saying that jut because during the Vegas tour, that show girl took yous for all yous is worth,” he started, amused and condescending, and Pickles snickered, grabbing a few more cubes of cheddar from the center of the table. 

Murderface grew redder as Pickles decided to chime in himself. “Oh yeah, y’know, she obliterated you, dude,” he shoved the cheese into his mouth.

“How was I s’posed to know she had a straight flush?!”

“I mean, there were three house cards already on the table and her bets-“ Pickles started, speech somewhat muffled by the cheese.

“Oh shut up! You're from the midwest, not the west-west like...like Texas! So shut up!” Murderface interrupted. “The point is, the chick doesn’t get to play.” He pointed an accusatory finger your way. “This was supposed to be guy’s night, anyway.”

Toki spoke up, his lips curved down into somewhat of a pout, “I thought this was Toki and Murderface’s night-“

Murderface turned on Toki. “Ha! Then why were you at some fuckin’ show all night, you dildo!” 

In the midst of the argument, Skwisgaar threaded an arm about your waist, hooking his thumb into the front opposite pocket of your jeans. You looked up at him, a little surprised, and he looked down at you, a little suggestive. The fighting then seemed miles away, and you became very aware of Skwisgaar’s body heat up against you. 

Heat pooled between your legs like it had earlier. His handsome face leaned down towards yours, his lips close to the top of your ear. “C’mon. It’s late.” He spoke softly, lowly, the warmth of his breath tickled your neck. “I want to go to bed.” 

Right. Groupie status.

If you were getting the golden ticket, you had to pay for the chocolate bar, you figured. Feeling a little embarrassed you looked towards Toki and Murderface, who were now going back and forth about betrayal and the integrity of a guy’s night. They didn’t seem to notice, or at least if they did, they didn’t care. You side eyed Pickles at the table as well, who had been looking your way, but turned his head less than subtly when your eyes almost met his. 

You weren’t really the one-night stand type, but this was one of those once-in-a-lifetime opportunities. You and yours had had conversations, talking about your ‘one pass’. If you had the chance to fuck your favourite celebrity, who would it be? And for you, that question was now a reality. You weren’t about to say no, or get bashful on Skwisgaar. Swallowing, you nodded a little, and he pulled his arm back to instead take your arm by your wrist, gently. From there, he started to lead you down an opposite corridor from where Nathan had disappeared down for the evening. 

You were mostly out of view from the rest of the band members before you heard Toki, from back down the hall, “But- wait, she is _my_ friend!” 

\-------------

Skwisgaar closed the door behind the two of you, and you stood in place awkwardly, unsure of what to do first. Instigate? Start taking off your clothes or something? You’d seen enough porn you could probably fake it – do some sexy ass shake or whatever while sliding off your panties – but instead, you rocked back and forth on the balls of your feet, arms swinging a little at your side. You were well tipsy, after all.

“Soooooo…..” you said, and when you looked at him, he had a smirk on his face that was almost a smile. He shook his head a bit, like he found you ridiculous. Much of the cold exterior had been flushed out of his face, and he looked warm and welcoming instead. Seductive, you thought at the back of your mind. Like he’s trying to seduce me. His icy blue eyes were half lidded and he took a step towards you.

“So,” he mimicked, one arm encircling you. His other hand took the beer can that Nathan had tossed you from your hand, and he put it on a shelf by his door. 

“My hand is a little sticky,” you said, then felt embarrassed for saying it. 

“That’s okay. I’m sure you’lls be more than sticky after this, too.”

You started to laugh, but the sound ended in a strangled 'gah-!' as his hand slid over your rear. He squeezed, chuckling lowly and you found your pelvis pressing into his. He pulled his hand back only to have it come down in firm slap. You made another sound of surprise, and your knickers flooded. 

Hazily, you looked up at him. He was certainly beautiful. You’d always a thing for Legolas in your younger years, you thought in your drunken stupor, and maybe some of that was a carried-on effect. But at the same time, Skwisgaar reminded you of airbrushed murals on the sides of carnival rides. Furred, Nordic warriors with thick blonde locks amongst packs of wolves chasing well-endowed barbarian women. 

It was thrilling. He was strong jawed and tall. While lean, he wasn’t weak, and he brought a hand up to cup one side of your face, tilting it up to match his tilting down. 

You were about to kiss Skwisgaar Skwigelf. He was about to kiss _you._

The dim lights of his room cast severe shadows over the dramatic angles of his face, and you inhaled sharply, once, before his mouth descended on yours. Your lips parted willingly, and obediently. There wasn’t anything romantic about it; it was easily the most sensual kiss you’d ever had. He kissed you deeply and erotically, tongues trading into each other’s mouths, drawing you closer and deeper under his spell. You rolled your hips up against his, grasping at his shoulders, lost with what to do with your hands otherwise, as his own began to freely roam your body. 

He tasted like liquor and smokes; but so did you - and he smelled of sweat and hot leather and wet steel. It was a drug. Madly intoxicating. His talented mouth locked against yours, teaching your tongue how to waltz, holding your hot body against his own. You had been so nervous just a heartbeat ago and already you felt your body melt into mouldable clay, and Skwisgaar’s talented fingers began to do their shameless and artisanal sculpting.

One of his legs nudged the top of your thighs and you felt compelled to move backwards. He walked you backwards over to his bed, and when the end of the mattress hit the back of your calves, you let yourself fall back on top of it. Your hoodie rose up your midriff as your arms splayed akimbo above your head. Skwisgaar took his place above you, his hair falling around his face like a golden curtain, the locks coiling over your chest. 

He was handsome. Stupidly so, you thought, in the fog of your high. You raised your legs, wrapping them around Skwisgaar’s waist again and pulling him in so you could grind up into him. He groaned and grabbed your jaw again to kiss you. 

He worked his mouth and his hips against you, and you moaned sweetly into his mouth, desperately trying to create more friction to your clothed cunt up against his own groin, which strained hard against the leather of his trousers. The cold metal of his belt would occasionally graze against your hot stomach and you would gasp and shiver. Skwisgaar’s touches would become a little more aggressive the reaction, every now and again giving your rear a good slap or grope. 

He pushed you upwards along the mattress so he could fully get himself onto the bed. Your heart pumped your blood fast through your veins. In your current clothes, you felt like you were a million degrees. With ungraceful grasps, you tugged at the hem of your hoodie before Skwisgaar pushed both your undershirt and sweater up over your chest, and then helped you get it up over your head. Pulling off his own shirt, he tossed them all to the side of his bed, and both his hands came up to grasp at your tits while he continued to kiss you, and break away, and kiss you again. 

Over your bra he toyed with your nipples, teasing them through the barrier as you humped unevenly up into him, wanting your pants off and your underwear gone. You wanted his skin against yours, and the best you had were his lips. 

Which, if you had to admit, really weren’t so bad at all.

Your tongue tingled as his glided against yours. With your own hands, you began to map out the edges of Skwisgaar’s body, coming to know his shape intimately through your fingertips. You ran them along his obliques and felt him shiver, over the sharp angles of his shoulder blades and over his taught chest. He would groan into your mouth and your heart fluttered victoriously. 

“Please,” you gasped once your lips parted, a trail of saliva connecting them, his own breath uneven. You didn’t know what you were asking for. Just more. More of whatever this was. More of his hands on you, more of his mouth on you. More of him. 

Skwisgaar obliged you, as he moved one hand to balance himself once more beside your head, and the other snuck over your jeans. He teasingly played with your pussy through the denim, and you tilted your head up against his inner forearm. One of your hands gripped onto his forearm and you whimpered and kissed along his wrist while he thumbed the seam. Your pelvis trembled and buckled as your body craved more, and he chuckled, the sound low in his chest, and your body temperature seemed to skyrocket. 

All you wanted was out of your clothes, and something of his deep inside of you. His fingers, his cock, whatever. 

With a practiced motion, Skwisgaar undid your jeans and slipped his palm down the front of your pants. Deep in the fog of your mind, you thought about how you weren’t wearing the most flattering underpants, nor the sexiest bra, but then Skwisgaar’s middle finger was sliding between the lips of your groin and any insecurities were promptly extinguished by satisfactory pleasure. He thrusted in and out experimentally, and you ground up against his palm, your hips doing their best to angle themselves in a way that would draw him in deeper. His rough palms rubbed up against your clit while he did so, and it made you gasp and squirm with gushing want.

After a heavy few moments of that, occasionally speeding up his pace just to tease drunken whines from you, he withdrew his hands altogether and pulled back. You choked on a frustrated, heady noise at the sudden neglect. He hooked his fingers around the tops of your jeans and underpants and began to shimmy them down your thighs. He slapped the outside of one of them to encourage you to unravel the tight grip your legs had around him, and you stuck both legs up in the air as silently told as he pulled up to take them off. You helped best you could by sloppily unhooking your own bra, and both of you tossed the clothes to the side. 

There was a beat before he descended on you again. He took you in, from top to bottom, almost as he had done so in the parking lot. The mystery unveiled. You were too drunk to feel embarrassed as his eyes moved over the whole of you, and you extended your arms up towards him. “Please.” You asked again, and he caved to your erotic whims. You wrapped one of your arms loosely around his neck, entangling your fingers in his beautiful hair. He in turn scooped you up with one hand around your hips, using the other to being fondling you between your legs. 

Easily, he slipped two fingers inside of you, while his thumb played with your clit. You gasped, the pitch of your voice high and needy as your own free hand moved between the two of you to tug impatiently at his belt. You had no time to be fooling around with his zipper, and he withdrew the arm that was around you so he could properly undress. 

Well, as properly as shimmying down the leather to free himself could get. 

He was already rock hard in your grip as you took him. Your fingers were soft, and his hips bucked once into your touch involuntarily. You glided along the shaft, encouraging him to his full, impressive length. He groaned lowly into your ear, nibbling and kissing against your jaw joint and ear job while you played with one another. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” he said certainly against your ear, and a delightful shiver rocked up your spine as he said so. He pinched your nipples simultaneously, coaxing a little whimper from you.

“Yes,” you permissed, tightening your grip along the base of his cock at the sentiment of his words. Sliding your hand up to the head of his length, you sped up your stroking as he fingered you open, thumbing the slit of his head. The pads of his fingers sought out your g-spot with the intuition that could only come with lots of practice, and your thighs and voice shook at the contact. Neither of you really spoke but rewarded one another with a symphony of impassioned moans and gasps. By the time Skwisgaar was shallowly thrusting into your palm, he pulled back, grabbing you by the wrists to stop your touching. 

A little confused, and now feeling empty as his fingers left your wanting wet cunt, you moaned out your disappointment. 

“I’ve gots you,” he reassured, voice gentle, before he flipped you over onto your stomach. While he was lean, he wasn’t weak, and your stomach fluttered as you felt like a doll. He spanked you across your ass once before kneading both cheeks with his hands. “Yous got a great ass,” he complimented huskily, and you felt his boner bounce up against your cheeks. 

You wondered if he might fuck your ass, but he coaxed you up to your knees with a few pats to your hip, and your cheek was pressed into a pillow. He leveled his cock up with your entrance, and again in the fog, you thought about how you were sure he wasn’t wearing a condom. 

He eased into you with little resistance. Your cunt was open and soaked, completely ready and willing to take his stiff cock. He pushed in inch by inch, relishing in your warmth, right to the root. Once he was hilted, your fingers curled into the silken sheets of his bed, your back arching as you took the full of him. You heard him curse, and the both of you took a moment to adjust to the heat; the contact. Every inch of you seemed to be buzzing, and even his thumbs rubbing circles into your hips made your body shake. You felt tears begin to rise in your eyes; too eager, too aroused. “Please, fuck me,” you slurred together. “Please Skiwsgaar,” 

He shakily inhaled above you, and you felt him pull out, before hilting himself again. You felt yourself slide up a few centimeters, and you tucked the pillow under your head for support, holding onto it as your hips moved back against him. 

The rhythm began, as he started to steadily fuck into you, the pace was even and well paced at first, but quickly began to grow more and more erratic - more intense. Both of you – or at least, you hoped he shared the feeling – were too riled up now, and eager to finish. 

He wound a hand into your hair and gripped it tight as he began fucking you hard. Each time he thrust the whole of his length inside of you, but with growing force, pulling out only a few inches before nailing into you again, trying to bury you into his mattress. You were practically sobbing with arousal, and you thrust back against him unevenly, matching his pace the best you could. Occasionally you’d just get a smack on the rump and a growl of frustration from Skwisgaar above you, who would then thrust into you viciously for a few moments to remind you that he was leading. You had to say, it was not a bad sound at all. 

His free hand wound its way back to your neglected clit, and that sealed the deal for you. He hardly had to touch it, the calluses rubbing sensational circles around it before your pussy was cumming around him. The walls of your cunt began to constrict around him and he moaned, long and low, before you felt him cum deep inside of you as well. You spasmed below him and he held onto you, covering your body with his own as he laid you into the mattress, hips thrusting still into you as he emptied himself. 

Your head was swimming, full of sex and alcohol. “Skwisgaar,” you gasped, then, the first word either of you had said in a while. “Oh my god, Skwisgaar.” Your voice was rough and constricted with your arousal melting like putty into the sheets underneath you. 

You hummed a noise above you, his thrusts slowing to a gentle sway of his hips, and then he pulled out of you all together. You heard a wet pop as he did so, and over your lips you could feel his cum leaving you. Behind you, he lifted himself up to his knees, and used his thumb to open your cunt lips up, getting a good view of his work. 

If this were a normal fuck, you thought, you’d probably get a smoke, and go to bed. You felt completely satisfied, thighs still shaking as residual climax rocked through you. Your body began to cool rapidly, and goosebumps erupted over you. Skwisgaar shifted so that he could move beside you. Grabbing a thick blanket, he threw it over the top of you and laid down. “Ugh, shit, it’s like, fives in the a.m’s.” He complained, then, his voice thick with sex and exhaustion. 

You’d had sex with Skwisgaar. And it didn’t look like he was going to kick you out of the room for the night, either. You felt like you were glowing, your whole body thrumming with euphoria  
Which was good because, if you were going to be honest, you weren’t sure you could move right now. 

“You got an early morning?” You mumbled, feeling sleep began to roll over you. The excitement of having met Dethklok, the drinking, the show you’d gone to see, and the sex – it was all compounding into each other, and your eyelids fell like bricks. You’d be asleep in minutes. 

“Jas,” you heard Skwisgaar answer last, and his arm moved around you, pulling you up over towards his chest. _Is he a cuddler?_ you mused, smiling inwardly as you put an arm over his torso and nestled your cheek against his pectoral. “But," he sighed, stroking his hand along your upper back, "it’ll have to be an early afternoons instead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll meet and interact with the band more in the coming chapters! I promise lol 
> 
> Thanks for reading! It's much appreciated; I hope you enjoyed aaaa


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You run into Pickles! He's friendly, and you two enjoy a good conversation, and he gives you a special invite. Non-NSFW

The night had been a whirlwind, and an unbelievable one at that. As you roused, your head still swimming with the hangover, you had been certain all that had happened was a pleasant dream induced by a night of smoking and concert watching. Your dreams had been full of soft touching, soft kisses, and intense, starry eyed love making. As your bleary gaze cleared, you realized you didn’t recognize what room you were in, and suddenly you jerked bolt upright, going from very asleep to very awake in the nth of a second.

The bed was massive, and the decorations expensive and contemporary. Stuff that you’d see on the cover of a luxury home design magazine, you thought, in awe as the memories settled back into place. You were at Mordhaus, in Skwisgaar Skwigelf’s bed. 

Light streamed between an opening in the curtains of his windows, and you wondered how late you’d slept in for.

Skwisgaar wasn’t in the bed with you. The side he had slept on was empty, the blankets thrown over your way. A clock on his nightstand read that it was well into the afternoon. You couldn’t be sure of when he’d gotten up, and as you slid a palm over to his side of the bed, you felt the sheets were cold. He’d been up a good while before you, it seemed. 

Rubbing your eyes, you slipped out from under the covers, throwing your legs over the side of the mattress. The bear skin blanket, while ostentatious, had been warm and comforting. When the cold air of morning hit your naked body, you shivered at the exposure, wrapping your arms around your chest. In the clarity of the morning, you felt a little embarrassed for having jumped right into the guitarist’s bed.

But only a little. 

It had been quick and raw, you remembered groggily, and you felt sticky where the sweat had clung to your skin, as well as where Skwisgaar had come, dry on your inner thighs. Gross. You could really use a shower. Pressure in your bladder let you know that you could use a visit to the toilet, too. Your face grew a little hot as you tried to remember exactly what had happened, and how quickly you had been coerced into his bed. He’d only had to glide his hands over you to excite you. Not even that, you thought, remembering his cool blue eyes in the orange stadium lights, looking down at you. 

_That’s_ all he really had to do, you admitted.

Walking around the bed, you retrieved your clothes. Everything was left in an untidy pile on the side of the bed, and as you pulled your things apart, Swkisgaar’s own tank top fell from the bunch. Curiously, you lifted it up to your nose and took a hesitant sniff. It smelled like he had last night. A little musky, a little boozy. You wrinkled your nose as your head panged. You couldn’t even _think_ about alcohol right now. 

Other than the pile, everything in the room looked to be clean, and well organized. You felt a little impressed. Everyone knew the best of bands partied hard, and you almost expected his room to reflect that.

Dressing yourself, you had the sense to check that you had everything that you’d left your apartment with the night before. You still had your phone, your wallet, and your weed in your pockets. The three most important things to leave the house with, you supposed, and with no other direction, you started out the door of Skwisgaar’s room. You could have stayed behind to poke around, but a wiggling feeling in the back of your brain told you that it just wasn’t a good idea. 

Your limbs were stiff and your body stunk; it was more of a prerogative to find a washroom. 

Wandering aimlessly, you couldn’t remember which way you’d taken to get here from the main foyer last night. Mordhaus was labyrinthine, and you picked a hall to walk down using no particular intuition. It wasn’t like you were in a hurry to leave – this was still the coolest place you’d ever been, and you wanted a moment of privacy to check out the place that you’d only ever seen through the tv. Once you left, you likely would never be able to come back, after all. 

Which was too bad; you would have liked to see the band again. Last night was cool, and fun, but it left you wanting for the VIP experience. A real conversation with the guys instead of just passing through. Though, if you were to leave just as a notch in Skwisgaar’s belt, it wasn’t the worst. No one would believe you, of course, but it was still pretty cool. 

Rounding a corner, you nearly ran smack into Pickles. You felt gob smacked. Of all the people, of course it had to be another member of the band that you would run into while you were feeling greasy and gross.

He was holding a marijuana cigarette between his forefinger and thumb, looking just as surprised to see you. “Oh shit – hey, you’re still here,” he drew the toke to his lips and inhaled deeply. 

“Yeah- uh, sorry uh, I just woke up, so,” you stumbled, not sure what to say. “I’m a little lost.”

Pickles looked you over, curiously, nodding along with your jumbling. “I don’t mean t’be rude,” he began, exhaling out of the side of his mouth. The way he stretched his a’s and u’s made you feel a little more at home and less like you were in the middle of Dethklok’s McMansion. “But y’look like shit.” 

You could feel yourself flush. It wasn’t exactly the impression you wanted to give to someone you admired. “Thanks, I uh, just woke up.” You repeated flatly, “and uh, I don’t know where the bathroom is.”

Tapping ash off onto the floor, Pickles gestured for you to follow him. “I do. Follow me.”

Nodding your head, blinking in surprise, you followed behind quietly, trying to untangle your hair with your fingers so it was a little presentable. Not that it probably mattered, it looked like Pickles was wearing the same thing you had met him in last night. 

You kept in pace with Pickles’ saunter through the hall, and as he sucked down another puff, he handed the joint off to you. “You know, Skwisgaar brings in a lotta women, but they aren’t normally shy.” 

Taking the joint you looked up at him incredulously. “Shy? I wouldn’t say I’m shy.” Rolling the joint around between your fingers, you brought it to your own lips, tickled that you were so easily sharing it between each other. It was way too early to be smoking, you thought, but you weren’t out here to be caught looking like a chump. 

“Socially awkward, then.” He concluded for himself. 

“That’s a little, uh, _presumptuous_,” you replied, though he wasn’t totally wrong. You wouldn’t exactly call yourself a social savant, but you thought you were holding it together pretty well considering who you were around. You inhaled. Whatever he had given you, it was smooth. It tasted like blueberry pie, and campfires. 

“You’re quiet.”

As you exhaled, he stuck his hand out to take the joint back, and you complied, coughing a little. “I mean, give me some credit. You might be used to seeing celebrities all the time but I’m not. I just don’t want to say something that’s gonna get my ass landed out the front door.” 

“Fair,” he agreed, still amused. “Still, I mean. You were just sort of standing around last night like you were just along for the ride.”

“I was.”

He smiled. “How did you meet Skwisgaar again?”

“Uh, I ran into Toki first actually, kind of, at school.” 

“Right, right,” Pickles nodded, exhaling a large white cloud before he passed the joint back off to you again. “Go Coyotes.” He did a mock fist pump like you had the night before. 

“You got it,” you laughed back, puffed, and passed.

The two of you turned down another hall, and Pickles stopped short before a door to the right. “Here’s the bathroom. We ain’t got any spare toothbrushes anything, but you can wash your face and pits in the sink if you like.” 

A whore’s bath, you snorted. Fitting. 

Pushing the door open, you were met with a bathroom that was as huge and absurd as the rest of Mordhaus. Very Dracula’s Castle meets a mall fountain. How much money the band had, just to blow on things like ornate brass sink accents or black marble flooring, you could never know. Looking back over your shoulder for a second as Pickles positioned himself by the door, leaning his back up against the wall, you cocked a brow. “Really? Is that a _real_ silver gargoyle?”

“Well it’s not a _real_ gargoyle,” He joked. “But it’s _real_ silver. If you’re looking for something homier, I think there’s a Shell station down the road a few miles?”

You mock scoffed at him, before you slipped inside, laughing as you closed the door behind you and took to the nearest toilet. 

Working your underwear down to your ankles, you sat your ass down against the seat and relieved yourself. While you sat, you felt your head begin to inflate and slowly spin, the marijuana settling into your blood and taking its sweet, slow effects. At the same time, your stomach unpleasantly turned, not as happy with your decisions as you were. You could do for some breakfast, you thought.

Where? How would you even get home? 

When you were in the bus last night with Toki and Skwisgaar, you’d been much to caught up in their boyish arguing and shop-talk, and you hadn’t done a lot of talking yourself, nor had you paid attention to where you were going. There was probably a bus station somewhere in the area, you thought. You might need to borrow some quarters, though. Awkward. This is why you should carry change. 

Flushing, you washed your hands from the mouth of the silver Gargoyle, positioned above the sink’s basin. You took the time to scrub your face, and you also took Pickle’s advice in cleaning your underarms, as well as between your thighs. You used a plush face towel that hung on a black iron ring by the gargoyle to wash yourself, feeling a little bad as you scrubbed at your groin. Checking yourself in the mirror, it looked like your hair wasn’t looking half as bad as you thought it had, much to your delight. Pulling your hoodie down and pants up, you tossed the cloth down a hamper shoot by the door, and left. You felt much tidier than before, a sense of refreshment interlaced with your gentle high. 

You returned to Pickles, who was still waiting patiently in the hall up against the wall, blowing smoke rings into the open air. You were happy to see he hadn’t left. 

Why he hadn’t, you didn’t know, but the butterflies lit up in your stomach again.

“What was Toki doin’ there anyway?” He asked, referring to your earlier conversation.

“Oh,” you started, and Pickles pushed off the wall to lead down the hall again with you in tow. “He didn’t tell anybody when Murderface was yelling at him last night?”

“He never got the chance,” Pickles explained, turning down another mysterious hall. You weren’t really sure where you were going. Maybe Pickles was taking you right to the front door. Your heart sank a little at the thought, since you were having fun. Some real fun; something other than beer pong or crashing McDonalds after last call. 

“My School Union set up a concert to show off some local uh, ‘talent’. Garagekids.” You rolled your eyes and snorted. “They’re really terrible, but I guess Toki is a fan? I mean, look, I’m not trying to step on anybody’s toes, but it was a serious surprise. If I were going to choose a local show that I would catch Toki fuckin’ Wartooth at, it would be like…” you rattled your memory. “It’d be like, Fledermaus or something.” Pickles gave you an empty look, for good reason. Who else would have the same encyclopedic knowledge on your hometown’s underground music culture other than you? “They were great, just trust me, some really clean power metal. They actually got signed by a label a few years back after they won a contest in the city.” Pickles handed you the joint again, and you took it again. “They’re kind of trash, now.” 

“Ohhh,” Pickles mused, looking down at you with a knowing look. “I see, so you’re like, one of those music snobs that does the whole ‘I liked them before they were cool’ thing, and then you drop them when they get big.” He teased back at you, smiling crookedly. You noticed when he did, his ears would raise a little, and they were as pink as his nose from his day-drinking. “Can’t dig a ‘sell out’ huh?” He made air quotes. 

You feigned a look of mockery. “Hey, I like Dethklok, don’t I?” 

“Maybe we’re popular because we’re actually good? Who’d have thought?”

You snickered a little as you stepped into another room. “No way, it’s always about the illuminati. I’ve been brainwashed, so I have to buy your records.” You two broke into some wheezy laughs. 

“But seriously, Garagekids suck,” you said, and Pickles laughed harder, coughing a little from his smoky lungs. 

The dining room. Pickles hadn't taken you to the front door, after all. He brought you to food. A good man, you concluded.

Whoever currently catered for Dethklok had already set out several brunch options along the table, where the bandmates could feel free to help themselves. There were monte cristo sandwiches stacked into towers and chocolate fountains surrounded by moats of various compotes. You were met with the savoury scent of bacon grease and rich coffee, the dining room smelling like the best Waffle House you had ever had the pleasure of visiting. In response, your stomach growled obnoxiously, and you put your hands over it as Pickles exchanged a look with you, smirking. 

“Alright, don’t drop dead now. Have a seat, help yourself.” Nudging you with his elbow, he pointed over to a stack of empty plates. It was like a buffet. Beside the clean stack of dishes, you noticed a bin with a few dirty ones. It looked like some of the others had already been in for breakfast. “I’m going to get something to drink.” Pickles left your side then, patting you once on the shoulder in a comradery fashion, before he slipped away through a door into what you presumed was the kitchen area. 

So, you helped yourself.

Grabbing a plate, you weren’t sure where to start, but then you were grabbing some slices of fruit, and a croissant, and then some sausage links and several crepes spread with chocolate and jam and before you knew it, you had a mountain to attend to. Your stomach growled again hungrily, and you felt ravenous. In the middle of gathering your spoils, Nathan Explosion walked right in through the other side of the room and you stopped dead in your tracks while reaching for a lemon scone. His brows furrowed a little when he saw you, and he gave you an awkward wave, and a ‘hey,’ before grabbing the remaining plate of toast, and walking right back out. 

Again, you were momentarily stunned.

The ordinary way in which you’d seen some of the bandmates act so far felt much more like a fairy tale than if you’d seen them doing something outrageous. The architecture of Mordhaus was one thing, but their behaviour was something else. Skwisgaar’s cleanly, stark room; Pickles talking to you like a friend on campus; Murderface planning a guy’s night. You smiled, staring after the door Nathan had exited through. 

As you sat down to dig in, Pickles came back with a plate of what remained of last night’s cheese cubes and two vodka ices. Your stomach lurched at the sight and it nearly killed your appetite. You put down the strawberry you had just picked up, and Pickles offered you one of the coolers. “These are disgusting,” you grimaced, taking it anyway. 

“Oh sorry, I didn’t realize groupies were above such _common_ tastes,” he teased. 

You gave a self depreciating laugh, feeling the same embarrassment from that morning rise up when he called you out on it. Groupie. Right. “Look, I don’t…I don’t really do stuff like that normally, it’s just,”

“Skwisgaar.” Pickles interrupted, and nodded with understanding as he ate a cheese cube. You shrugged openly, quietly agreeing while you dug into the strawberry. 

Pickles thwacked the lip of his bottle on the side of the table expertly, and the bottle cap popped right off. “You don’t need to fuck him, you know.” 

You were a little surprised at the comment, and you prickled a little, your embarrassment leading into a little defensiveness. “I know I didn’t _need_ too, I wanted to, because it’s-“

“Skwisgaar,” Pickles said again, taking a drink. “Yeah, I know. I just mean, for future reference. You don’t _have_ too. You can say no, he won’t give a shit one way or the other I promise you.” 

For future reference. Among all what Pickles was saying, that stuck out to you the most. It was almost like a promise that you’d get to come back sometime. That they were open to hanging out with a normal nobody like you. “Thanks, but I mean, I don’t really feel like I have to.” You were more than willing to. Skwisgaar’s panting, the way he’d pinned you. Your toes curled in your shoes. “I mean, the lead guitarist of Dethklok. That’s some _rep_.” You beat the front of your chest with a fist, mockingly. 

“Some _rep_?” Pickles retorted, scoff-laughing. He set his bottle down, twisting it by the base on the table top. He watched it thoughtfully, and For a moment he was quiet while you enjoyed a bite of the croissant.

Then he leaned in your way a little, giving you a cheeky grin. “Well, how about the Drummer of Dethklok?” 

You were struck by the proposal and dropped the croissant, starring at him dumbfoundedly. “I, well, I,” you stumbled, feeling heat bloom over your face again. Pickles wasn’t bad looking, by any account. He was roguishly handsome, and any time he smiled at you he looked like he was up to something. He bled Irish charm, but-

“Oh my god, relax, I’m joking,” he leaned back. “When I didn’t have to sleep with chicks from the Midwest anymore, I stopped sleeping with chicks from the Midwest,” he winked as he picked up his bottle again and you nudged his leg with yours, half smiling, half scowling at him. 

“You are _so_ rude,” you combatted. 

“And you are _such_ a guitar slut.” He teased back, and you flicked a strawberry top his way. 

“Where is everyone else, by the way?” You knew Nathan had made a pass through to grab toast, but otherwise, you weren’t sure what the others were up to. You thought you remembered Skwisgaar saying that he had to do something in the morning. Or maybe he’d only implied it.

Pickles put a finger to his lips. “Confidential band stuff.” 

That excited you. You knew there was another album in the works. They’d released an early single over the Christmas prior, and promised to release another one before the end of summer to tease their proposed Halloween release. You felt yourself grinning, hoping that that was exactly the ‘confidential band stuff’ Pickles was talking about. 

“A new song?”

“Confidential,” he winked again, and you took that as your best yes. 

“So, why aren’t you there?” 

“I did my bit, more or less. Now it’s up to Skwisgaar and Toki, mostly, to decide some things first, aaand then maybe I’ll do more things. When things are decided.” It was vague and roundabout, but not vague and roundabout enough for you to think it _wasn’t_ a song that he was talking about. Maybe he meant a tour, which would also be pretty cool, but you figured that was more on the band manager side of things to decide. 

You stared at him, trying to read more out of his face, but what more could you expect? It wasn’t like lyrics were going to come reading over his eyes like a prompter. He wasn’t going to spontaneously start drumming on everything to give you the percussion. 

He looked away from you, drinking about half of the cooler in one go. You looked away yourself, sighing internally, since he wasn’t about to crack. You went for a chocolate muffin on a tiered stand, resigning yourself. At least you got to hang out with Pickles. That was nothing to sniff at. 

“You wanna see?” he asked out of nowhere, and you whiplashed.

“_Fuck_ yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading as always! i hope you're still enjoying! A very pickles centric chapter, isn't it?
> 
> if any band reading this is called garagekids i apologize you probably sound fine lmao


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pickles takes you to the studio to see what everyone is up to, and it seems like they're up to a whole lot of arguing to you!

You both ate - or more like, you shoveled food down your gullet fervently. You were hungry and excited to go where Pickles said he was going to take you. 

Pickles himself, drank. 

The joint was finished, so he emptied his cooler, then yours once he noticed you weren’t interested. He polished off the rest of the cheese, never reaching for any of the treats that were laid out on the dining table, and got up once to fetch a half-emptied forty of whiskey. When you were finished eating, you dumped your dirty dishes in the bin beside the clean plates before exiting back the way you’d entered. You followed in step with Pickles again as he lead you back down the hallway, trying your best to memorize the map of Mordhaus – but not to much avail. 

“Thank you,” you said as well, “for breakfast, as well as letting me come." He could have just kicked you out when you caught you wandering about the hallways, after all. 

Pickles shrugged. “It’s nothin’. It’s been a while since I’ve talked to a chick without tryna get a blow job out of it. It’s sort of nice.”

“I’m pretty sure you _were_ trying to get a blowjob out it,” you smiled, nudging him with your elbow a little bit. Pickles looked back at you, looking equally mischievous. 

“I said I was joking,” he excused.

“Mhm, sure.” You returned sarcastically.

“Ooh, she’s got _ego_ does she.” 

You grinned over at him, folding your arms across your chest. “I said I wasn’t shy, didn’t I?”

“Guess you did.” Pickles conceded as he brought the forty up to take a drink. You’d eaten, so your hangover felt mostly treated, but looking at him drink still made you feel a little queasy. “Did you get a prize from Skwisgaar’s room?”

You looked at him, eyebrows furrowing a little as you laughed. “A prize? What?”

Pickles raised his own brow at you. “Really? You didn’t take any trophies for your top lay? No undies or anything?” He wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand, then on the front of his shirt. Charming.

Your mind flashbacked to Skwisgaar’s tank top, laying on the floor with your own clothes. You had picked it up, but you hadn’t taken it, turned off by the heavy smell of alcohol that prodded at your early morning headache. Now, however, when Pickles mentioned it, you felt a little regret bleed into your stomach. Damn. That was an opportunity. “Uh, no.” You answered back, frowning somewhat. “Should I have?” You knew the answer to that. Yeah, you should have.

Pickles snickered. “Pussy.” 

It hadn’t felt right to go poking around Skwisgaar’s room, but when you thought about it, he probably wouldn’t have even missed the shirt. He probably had a thousand. Even if he did notice it gone, you doubt that once you left that he would come hunting you down for it. 

Ah, well. You weren’t about to get bogged down on it. You were still here, getting a private tour. No reason getting hung up on the negative when you were still having the time of your life.

The rest of the way to the studio, you two chatted idly and made jokes, and you both mostly avoided talking about the band, which was nice. It felt like Pickles could be any one of your friends back at campus.

When the two of you stopped in front of the studio, you felt your body light up like a Christmas tree. The room was clearly labeled with black lettering above the wooden door. _Studio One_.

You could hardly, _hardly_ hear voices beyond the door when you leaned up to it, which Pickles let you do, watching you with amusement. He was probably thinking something about how dumb fans were, you thought. Amused by the simplest of celebrity going-ons. 

You couldn’t contain how giddy you felt. You pulled away from the door and leaned over to Pickles, like sharing a secret on the playground, a grin plastered across your face. “Oh my god, it’s really the recording studio!” You stage-whispered at him, and he blinked once before leaning down a little, clapping his hands together like an excited school girl himself. 

“Oh my god!” He mocked, voice pitched girlishly as he imitated you. “Maybe we might even meet Dethklok?”

You shoved him a bit and he smiled, and he put a hand over your upper back and used his other to turn the door knob. 

When Pickles opened the door to the room, it felt to you like he was opening the door to the enchanted kingdom. Inside, you were met with panels of black keys and mixing equipment. Headphones were hooked around tall stands and an unlit ‘RECORDING’ light was situated above a large glass screen. In behind the screen was the recording room itself. There was a microphone, and a stool, and you were glowing from the inside out. 

Nathan and Murderface were there, along with a brown-haired man in a suit who you didn’t recognize. The two band mates sat back lazily in front of the panels in comfortable chairs, sharing the plate of toast that Nathan had grabbed earlier between them. The man you didn’t know was standing, back straight, thumbing through a thick stack of papers he was holding. As the door opened, he looked up over his square rimmed glasses at you, then at Pickles, his mouth lain in a serious, downwards line.

“Oh, you’re back.” Nathan welcomed. “I thought you were done for the day.” Both he and Murderface turned in their seats, facing the two of you. 

“I am,” Pickles answered, raising his forty up and shaking it from side to side so the liquid sloshed up the darkened sides of the bottle. “I brought a snack.” 

“No thanks,” Murderface said, eyeing you a little, instead of the bottle, before he turned back around to the toast. “Who would want Skwisgaar’s leftovers.” 

The comment jabbed at you a little and you exhaled sharply out your nose. Rude, but Murderface wasn’t known for being polite. 

“Ha,” you heard behind you, and quickly you looked over your shoulder. Towards the back right of the room, you hadn’t noticed a rounded couch shoved into the corner. Skwisgaar and Toki were sitting there, both with guitars in their laps, lounging. “If that were true, the number of ladies you has slept with would goes down to like, nones,” he smirked.

“Fuck you Skwisgaar,” Murderface retorted. “I’m just so ugly that I should kill myself? Is that it? I’m just soooo ugly, and you’re just soo handsome that you have slept with _every_ woman? Is _that_ it? God you’re a dick.”

Skwisgaar rolled his eyes, making a low _ugh_ sound deep in his throat. It was strange to see him there so normally. It made last night seem all the more surreal to you. Not that any moment of this hadn’t felt surreal, of course. He was handsome as before as well. Very rock and roll, clad in dark leathers. His long fingers held the neck of his guitar dearly, and his thick blonde hair spilled carelessly over his shoulders and down his back. He didn’t look at you, instead refocusing on his fingering. “Yeah, that’s it Murderface.”

Toki looked up from thumbing at the strings of his flying V, and noticed you there for the first time. Your eyes met his, and he smiled in happy surprise. “Oh, welcomes back!” 

“You don’t need to welcomes her back, she nevers left.” Skwisgaar said, his eyes on Toki. He snapped his fingers beside Toki’s ear. “Focus. Look, I’ve been trying to teach you this bit for twelve hundred times. Pays attentions, we’ve been trying to get it so we can records already? You think I have all day to babysit yous?”

“I don’t needs to practice,” Toki argued back, smacking away Skwisgaar’s hand, irritation cresting over him to replace his happy look. “I ams been trying to learn it all day! I just wants to have a good times now, but you keep nagging at me like an old lady! Besides, it has more passions when you plays it with a little improvisation! If it takes some time, why is that so bad, huh?” 

The suit interjected then. “Actually, Toki, we have a deadline to keep with the label when they signed for the album, and we’ve been falling behind in finishing this song because you seem to have been struggling with the bridge that Skwisgaar’s written for you. Maybe some practice would be beneficial. We also need to re-book for the music video, but we can’t shoot it unless you know how to play the song, Toki.” He adjusted his glasses. His voice was very firm, and he spoke pragmatically. If you had to guess, he was a producer or agent of some kind. He didn’t seem to fit in, but the way he spoke authoritatively over the band meant he wasn’t some nobody.

Pickles must have noticed you looking curiously at the man, as he leaned down towards your ear. “That’s Charles, our manager.” He whispered, whiskey breath wafting your way. You mouthed a ‘thanks’ to him, and he winked. 

Skwisgaar rolled his tongue against his teeth and pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyes, holding together his patience. “Toki, discipline and technique that is mastered over time, that’s what sounds goods. You needs to know the rules before you breaks them, but you never fucking bother to learns, you go at it at randoms and it sounds unpolished and bads. It’s an insults.” He threw his hands to the side, exasperated. “I shouldn’t even cares, because it all goes in one ear and out the others, but honestly Toki, you just make us all sounds worse by beings here.” 

The criticism sounded harsh to you, though you hadn’t heard what Toki had been struggling to play. He’d always impressed you in the albums. Often it seemed in songs like Skwisgaar overpowered him, or there was a decision behind the scenes to play Toki down, lending most – if not all – solos over to Skwisgaar and his skill. It was also commonly known that it was Skwisgaar that wrote both parts, and you could tell when you listened to them play in their songs. The score in Toki’s pieces had Skwisgaar’s name slapped across them in their pattern and upswings, but it was undoubtedly Toki’s signature that elevated it, making the guitar wail morosely and agonizingly. Metal.

You thought of the two as a unit, but from how they argued, it felt much more like bitter rivals. Skwisgaar placed his fingers in a starting chord. “Should I show you again?”

Before Toki could respond, Charles set his stack of papers down on a small table beside the panels. “Wait a moment,” he said, putting a hand up to stop Skwisgaar from starting. “Before we show more than we want to someone on the outside,” Reaching into his suit jacket he pulled out a folded piece of a paper and unfolded it. From the front of his lapel, he withdrew a pen. Walking in even strides he approached you, offering both. “Pardon me for a direct introduction, but I’ll need you to sign this.” 

Taking a cursory glance at the paper, it was definitely a non-disclosure agreement. They didn’t want you to squawk, understandably. You started skimming through the wording. You suspected this was one of those things that you probably didn’t want to sign unless you had a lawyer present, but then again…you didn’t want to get kicked out either. “Shouldn’t I uh, have an attorney present?” You asked, laughing a bit nervously.

Instead of getting an answer, the boys laughed along with you, before simultaneously falling silent. What were you going to do, try and google a cheap attorney right here, right now?

You took the paper and pen.

Phrases like _’Any breach of agreements herein this document will result in irreparable damage to The Company…_ and _’..The Company shall be entitled to relief (including monetary damages)…’_ made you feel a little nervous, but all the same, you signed below. 

Another sheet was set in front of you. Another privacy agreement, which you dutifully signed, and then a third. Then all three were taken back from you, as well as the pen. “Thank you,” Charles nodded his head politely, still stiff-lipped, as he checked your name at the bottom of the papers. Then he tucked them neatly away. “Charles Offdenson, Manager.” He offered his hand and you took it, letting him give yours a firm handed shake as you introduced yourself as well.

You swallowed. So, he was an important person. While most agents and managers ran the show behind the scenes, they were the ones you knew were largely responsible for the fame and notoriety that their clients got. They could be in control of everything from PR, to movie parts. “Good to meet you.” 

“Likewise.”

“Toki,” Skwisgaar spoke up again, now that all the liability nonsense seemed to have cleared, and your hand slipped from Charles’. Pickles in the mean time had moved in on the plate of toast, getting a punch in the arm from Murderface as he tried to reach for a triangle. “Look. Maybe the only reasons I ams not just recording it for yous, is because eventually there’s going to be a tour, and we cant’s has you fucking it up on stage. Thinks of how embarrassing that would be for us.” 

That comment seemed to hit a nerve with Toki, and he stood up, pulling the guitar strap up over his head, standing up. “Oh shut ups Skwisgaar! You thinks you are the best all the time, but sometimes just playing it how you feel like it should be played is good too!” 

Skwisgaar also stood, using his height to his advantage as he loomed over Toki, leaning his own guitar up against the sofa. “You could even be half decents if you bothered to try, but you don’t, I don’t understands you!”

As they argued, Charles glanced at you. “That NDA includes speaking to tabloids about any sort of in-fighting like this. Just so you’re aware.” It was a threat, for sure.

“Gotcha,” you answered.

Toki turned to the rest of the group. “What do yous guys think?” He asked, already sounding dejected. Pickles, who was rubbing his arm, pursed his lips a little as he side-eyed Nathan. In turn, Nathan inhaled deeply and rose from his chair. Though Skwisgaar was taller, Nathan’s bulk played quite a trick on the eyes, you thought. He looked like he could dwarf everyone in the room, folding his massive arms across his barrel chest. 

“Well, Toki,” Nathan started diplomatically. “We all know you’re good. Right guys? Toki's good.” 

Everybody nodded along, mummering compliments, though Skwisgaar shrugged. 

“See? You’re good, but like, practice makes perfect. Or something.” He moved a hand to rub the back of his neck, looking a bit uncomfortable. “The rest of us put in a lot of work to get as good as we are. The only practicing you ever do is when we end up doing a bunch of takes trying to get you playing, er, correctly.” By the end of what he was saying, even Nathan sounded carefully irritated. “Skwisgaar isn’t wrong. Practicing only helps, it doesn’t hurt.” It wasn't really the pick-me-up that Toki was looking for, as Nathan turned his answer around to back Skwisgaar.

“It’s not an insult, Toki,” Charles cut in. “It’s a constructive piece of feedback. If you applied it, you’d probably get as good as Skwisgaar.” The sentiment was a positive one, and it seemed to be the one that stuck out to Toki the most. He looked to the floor for a second, thoughtful, before he made a _’pfft’_ and started towards the door instead, guitar in hand. 

There was a soft chorus of ‘Aw c’mon Toki, don’t be like that,’ but it fell on deaf ears. Toki grabbed the door handle and swung it back open so he could leave. You went to move out of the way but he instead caught you by the elbow. You looked from his hand on your arm, up to his bright eyes, now swirling with frustration. “You want to hangs out for a bit?” He looked over his shoulder. “I’m looking for _new_ pals, who aren’t assholes.” 

The rest of the guys huffed or waved dismissively at Toki. “Your so dramatics. Like little girl,” Skwisgaar mocked, smirking over at the two of you. “Go cry out your feelings to the lady, have girl chats.” Toki’s lips pursed and you felt his grip ever so slightly tightly around you as he looked back towards Skwisgaar, though it didn’t hurt. 

With a jerk, Toki hauled you out with him, without your answer, and the door closed after the two of you. For a few steps he dragged you along before he realized, and let you go. “Oh – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to grab you like that. It’s just – stupid Skwisgaar! He’s such a douchebag sometimes.” Toki shoved his hands down his pockets petulantly. 

You rubbed at your arm a little, walking beside him. He was staring at the ground, and you could practically see the wheels turning in his head. “It’s alright, I get it. He was being kind of harsh, though I think for the most part he was just trying to give you a little advice. Though, badly.” You had to admit that. “I think you’re all great. And I understand what you meant, I think.” 

Toki glanced over at you. “You do?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I mean, like I said, I think so. It’s like, sometimes musicians or singers – or any kind of artist, honestly – have technique down to a science. They know all their music theory and can perform and execute expertly, but it doesn’t necessarily mean they have any passion or…I don’t know, soul, behind what they’ve done.” 

Toki nodded, his eyes clearing of anger as he seemed to feel understood. “Exactly! I feel like the parts of a song that are imperfect give it its character, otherwise it just sounds weak and flat, but Skwisgaar is too focused on making it sound perfect instead of hearing if it is connecting with who is listening. I’ve been moved by songs where the singer’s voice breaks, as well as excited when a musician pours their heart out into a song, instead of just playing it as they’ve learned it. Personality makes a song feels robust.”

The subject was a tricky one, but Toki communicated well with what he meant, and you agreed with what he was saying. But, you didn’t disagree with Skwisgaar and the others, nor did you want to throw Skwisgaar under the bus by just nodding along with what Toki said. 

“Well,” you tried. “The artist that practices hard, and masters techniques, will always sound good, no matter what, at least. The artist that always improvises is bound to make a mistake – look, consider this.” 

You stopped walking and then so did Toki. He watched you curiously, brushing his long dark bangs from his eyes. 

“You can try and make a cake by mixing everything you like together and baking it, but it doesn’t mean you’re going to make a good cake. But if you follow a recipe, you’ll get a good cake pretty much every time.”

You seemed to be losing him a little. “But,” you said again. “Once you learn what goes into making a cake, you can start to play around with it, adding flavours of things you like, or whatever. But you can’t do it without knowing about what goes into a batter or what makes a cake rise or fall-“ 

“I don’t really cook-“ Toki went to interrupt but you were quicker. 

“Sorry, I’m not a metaphoricalist. All I mean is, he was right about knowing the rules before you break them thing. If you’re finding it difficult, there isn’t any harm or shame in practicing. To be honest, I’m pretty surprised to hear that you don’t, for the most part.” That made him seem even more impressive to you, and Toki smiled a little bit to himself, hearing the compliment in what you had to say. 

Toki thought on it for a moment and sighed, seeming to give in. “I hears you. But, I’m still pretty pissed off right nows, so I don’t want to today.” 

Fair, you thought, you had put things off in spite before as well.

“You want to maybe go into town and hang out for a little while? It would be nice to go with a lady this times, usually one of the pals breaks something or makes someones real mad and we have to go early. Or call Charles, which sometimes is worse because it feels bad to disappoints him.”

You smiled. Toki was asking you to hang out with him. Almost like a date. You didn’t have any delusions that it _was_ a date, as Toki had been nothing but friendly towards you, but it was still fun to pretend. 

“Sure, Toki, that’d be really fun.” You looked down at yourself. “Oh, but uh, I’m not really dressed for hanging out. I sort of…smell, too.”

Toki laughed, a loud and happily unfettered sound. “Okay, well you can use the shower by my room. I has lots of shirt that you can wears too, if you don’t want to wear the same thing.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to-“

“But I can, so why don’ts I?” Toki asked hypothetically back, and he held out his hand to you. “Come on.”

You hesitated for just a second, before your palm slipped over his. He had the same strong, calloused fingers that Skwisgaar had, though thicker, squarer. More like labourer’s hands, you thought, and he gently lead you away from the studio. You looked back over your shoulder once to the studio as it receded from view. You hadn’t really gotten to see anything, but it didn’t look like things were going to be over just yet. Looking back up at Toki, smile on his face, starting to hum to himself as he took you along with him, your heart warmed a little looking up at him. “Where do you want to go?” 

“Hmm,” Toki pondered as you turned down a hall, back towards the wing where Skwisgaar’s room was. “Why don’t we go dancing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upcoming: A date with Toki, darling boy that he is! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toki takes you dancing, and it's mostly successful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapters ams so long it makes me horny

Dancing.

It wouldn’t be your first pick. You didn’t dance. Ever. 

But apparently, neither did Toki, which was why he asked. “I nevers gets to go,” he lamented to you, stopping in the hall, when he saw your look of uncertainty with the idea. “One time I take Pickle? But he got drunks and threw up on one of the other dancing ladies there. Look,” He shoved a hand into the back pocket of his pants and fished out an old, crumpled flyer. The paper was soft from how often it’d been folded and unfolded, and was tinted an ugly goldenrod.

It was a poorly designed advertisement for a dance night at what you presumed was a localish rec center. The whole thing seemed aimed at a demographic of middle-aged singles and old folks looking for an excuse to get out on the weekend. The image used was a stock cartoon of some big nosed caricatures dancing. It was plainly ripped off google images, as the watermark of the original website had been amateurishly included, faintly layered over the cartoon. Whoever had thrown the ad together probably hadn’t even noticed. ‘Bring 1 non perishable for entry! Help support our communities!’ Was printed across the very bottom. 

You probably looked even more skeptical, because Toki sounded even more insistent. “There’s a free salad bar,” he pointed out one of the listed perks at the top of the flyer, printed in bold, unpromising comic sans. “And if yous really don’t likes it, we can go get faced somewheres after, how about that?” He offered the compromise, and you looked up at him over the top of the flyer. You hadn’t planned to say no, but his eager look for your approval made you feel a little guilty for just thinking it was going to be lame.

Which, if you were going to be honest, it probably would be. 

“It’ll be fun,” you answered instead, smiling as you folded the paper back up and handed it over, and you watched as Toki brightened from the inside out, grinning, his prior doubts that you might reject the idea cast away. 

Now with his foot in the door with his dancing idea, Toki began to lead you both down back towards his room again, quickly, with one hand on your back to almost shove you down the hall. Didn’t want you changing your mind on him, you guessed, finding it funny.

“Do you have, uh, venue appropriate clothes?” You asked, though you felt confident the answer was ‘no’. When he had asked if you wanted to spend some time together and get away from the house, you thought you two might be going to hit up another concert or crash a bar somewhere. Leather trousers and metal shirts didn’t feel like the vibe that the flyer was trying to put out, nor part of the crowd they wanted to pull in. Especially if Pickles already had a history there, the hosts might be a little more wary. You’d wear it anyway, obviously, but you two would stick out a little more.

Something Toki was probably used to, you guessed, remembering how you yourself had stared dumb and open-mouthed at him when he’d stepped out of the school. 

“Pfft,” Toki dismissed. “It’ll be fines.” You two arrived in front of another door, which you guessed would be Toki’s room, and he opened it up. He gestured you in first, politely, before following and closing the door behind the both of you. His room was considerably darker than Skwisgaar’s – in both lighting and style, though Toki’s room was the more whimsical of the two. Several models of robots and varying vehicles decorated furniture tops, and photos hung on his walls; memories with Dethklok, as well as some curious photos of a solemnly dressed older couple. His family, maybe. All in all, it felt like more of a lived-in bedroom, and less like a…bachelor pad. Skwisgaar’s room had been pristine and minimal. Impersonal, while Toki’s was the opposite; cloistered and homey.

Toki moved over to his dresser, pulled open a drawer, and began rooting through. He picked out a shirt and then held it up in front of you, as if sizing it, before silently deciding against it. He dropped it onto the floor and grabbed another, doing the same thing, and then again. 

“Takes this.” He decided eventually, shoving you a shirt that was probably the same size as all the rest he had tested. There was a graphic on the front of it, Skwisgaar and Toki’s guitars crossed over one another, bolts of lighting spilling out from behind them. Checking the back, it was a tour merch shirt from 2004, two columns of American cities were listed over top of a faded Dethklok logo. Sick. “Thanks,” you said, reverently. Toki gave you a look at your intonation, though he didn’t comment. 

Toki looked down at your legs next, contemplatively rubbing his chin. After a long moment, his brows drawn together, he said, “Pants.” 

Another pause. “I don’t thinks I has pants that fits. Maybe we cans roll them up…”

“My jeans will probably be fine,” you reassured. “Mostly, I’d just like to wash my hair.” And the rest of you, properly. 

Toki nodded, and turned back to his wardrobe, looking to pick out his own outfit now. “I don’t haves makeups either, but maybe Pickle does. I can ask?” An image of Pickles’ in his glam rock days passed before your mind’s eye and you stifled a laugh. 

“No worries, I’ll be alright without.”

Nodding, Toki pointed to his left-hand wall. “The bathroom is just to the left of mines, outside. You can use what you likes.” You hoped that meant, unlike the last bathroom, there would be shampoo or something.

“I’ll be right back!” You promised, leaving the room and walking down your left to find another door. You took a cautious peek to see if it was the right room, and you were met with another large, ridiculous bathroom. This time, with an actual bath, at least, complete with a shower head and a collection of wash-items, standing on the tub rim like little cylindrical soldiers.

As you stepped inside, you made sure you locked the door behind you, so nobody could surprise you while you were in there. Then, you stripped eagerly out of your clothes, feeling your stink release into the air from under your hoodie. You had felt good since you were able to clean off a bit earlier, but this was going to be so much better. Leaning down, you began to run water into the porcelain basin (only struggling for a _few_ minutes with the unfamiliar water knobs) before jumping in. 

Switching on the shower head, you washed, relief running over you just as the water did. No more sticky beer on your fingers, or sweat lingering in the crooks of your elbows and knees. You fished through a few of the half-emptied bottles of hair and body product along the tub. One item was a Dethklok edition of an Old Spice body wash, and when you uncapped it to give it a sniff. Your head recoiled back. Yikes. Strong stuff. You might just have to keep yourself clean with water or shampoo, instead.

Finishing quickly, you toweled yourself off using a fresh towel on a bronzed hook by the bath before dressing. Your underwear, your jeans, and then the top that Toki had leant you. It wasn’t your fit – it was suited for Toki’s longer, boxier body, but tying a knot in the shirt at your hip gave it a bit more of a flattering effect, pulling in at your waist to give you a more feminine form. 

The shirt itself was awesome. The two guitars criss-crossed, Explorer overlapping Flying V, their shining Gibson logos winking at you. You made some horns in the bathroom mirror, sticking out your tongue as you did a mock head bang. 2004. You’d been nearly finished high school, then, and now you were just about finished university. In all that time, Dethklok had been Dethklok, as well as a huge influence on you.

Lastly, there was a hair brush that you decided to borrow. You cleaned out the long dark strands that you assumed were Toki’s, because his room was so close, and then brushed your own hair out, freeing it of tangles and letting it fall naturally as it may. Looking into the mirror, you felt altogether satisfied. You looked much more the movie picture of girl-fucks-rockstar than you had that morning. You had a sexy morning after vibe; much cuter than the slovenly walk of shame look. 

When you returned to the bedroom, refreshed and redressed, you found Toki laying back on his bed. He was playing on a DS, his long legs hanging off the end of the mattress by his knees, lazily swinging one leg back and forth so the back of his heel would knock against the bed frame. When he heard you come in, he lowered the game and looked up. 

He was dressed completely differently. 

He had cleaned up like some bank teller in Arizona, wearing a dark green button up with a tidy sweater-vest pulled over it. He finished off with a pair of very ordinary dark blue jeans, and extraordinarily ordinary brown loafers. His hair had been gathered into a simple, low hanging ponytail, tied at the base of his neck. There was a Willie Nelson-esque effect, like Toki was his little brother, or something, and he looked very out of place outside of his usual black. 

“You betrayed me!” You said then, surprised, cackling. “You say it’s fine that I go in this,” you gestured to your new clothes. “But you’re totally dressed like a regular jack off!” 

Pushing up onto his elbows, Toki looked down at himself. “I didn’t’s want them to recognize me from last times with Pickle!” 

“But I thought Pickles was the one who was causing the trouble?” You teased, and Toki shiftily looked off to his game again, pressing some buttons randomly.

“…I might also have thrown up on a ladies there,” he admitted, childishly mumbling his confession before he snapped the game shut. He tossed it back towards the pillows of his bed. “Besides, you look cutes! Really cools.” He pushed off the bed and came up to you, putting his hands on each of your shoulders, tilting his head down to get a good look at you. “I could change if you like?” 

The idea of you and Toki rolling up to a rec center full of pastel-patterned seniors was funny, but so was how he looked right now. Like a Jehovah’s Witness. A bubble of laughter rose up from your chest once more. “No,” you said, and gave him a pat on his torso encouragingly. “Don’t, you look cute too.” The compliment settled well with Toki, and you felt the briefest twitch of his fingers against your shoulders, his smile warm. 

“Ready to go?” Toki asked, and you nodded, so he opened the door for you again and you both left. He held his hand out to you once more, and so you took it unquestioningly. How could you say no? You both chatted a little on your way down to the car about what you had for breakfast, and how you liked the show last night, and when you got outside, there was a Klokateer driver standing ready by a slick car. Toki let you go first, the driver popping the back door open for you to get in, before Toki slid in beside you. 

The driver shut the door and moved around to the front of the car. In the mean time, the two of you buckled up. When you looked up, you caught Toki smiling at you. He looked sincerely happy, his hands together in his lap like a little boy. “I was glads to see you were stills around this morning,” he spoke up suddenly, and you felt giddy at the comment. 

“Really? Why’s that? I’m not really anybody to be missing.” 

“That’s not trues!” Toki blinked, then considered it. Maybe it was true. “Well, You’re a nice girl! When we bring pretty girls home, they aren’t as normals as yous. I wanted to talk to you a little, but Skwisgaar showed up out of nowheres.” You felt the car pull away from the curb, and off the two of you went. You didn’t know how long it would take; Mordhaus’ relative location to anything else was still unknown to you. 

You shrugged, thinking about him calling you normal. “I don’t know; I think everyone’s a little bit weird, aren’t they? And I’m a fan. It’s not totally normal to hang out with someone who knows more about you than you know about them, is it?” You were sure yourself that you wouldn’t be able to take the heat of fame. It’d be awkward, going around having people always staring or talking about you. Worse yet, the ones who’d try to interact or take your attention.

“Well, what can you really knows, though?” Toki questioned back, somewhat curiously, but mostly challenging. “How longs Dethklok has been a band? Our songs? Nothings personals.” It was a good question. Dethklok was deeply private about their personal lives. You’d never been able to find but a peep of their families beyond the odd name, maybe a one lined back story, but otherwise, who they were behind the veil of Dethklok was a great mystery. Charles Offdensen’s stoic face itched at the back of your mind, and you felt strongly that he had something to do with keeping those secrets. 

“Well, I know that you and Skwisgaar arguing like that back there isn’t new,” you tried, though it was really just more band trivia, not necessarily personal information. “From your book.” Charles had said not to spill anything to the media, but you’d been one of many of the readers that poured over Toki’s vent-novel about Skwisgaar’s treatment of him. They fought often about the level of contribution by Toki’s own accord, or at least they had been fighting when Toki had published the thing. Now you’d seen it for yourself. 

Though, it had read as exactly that; a vent-novel, where Toki felt his pride had been hurt more than anything else.

Toki stared at you. “You reads my book?” 

You nodded. “Of course, like I said, I’m a fan.” You had consumed most of the Dethklok related media you could get your hands on. The book had tugged at your heartstrings, too, and you felt for Toki’s plight as something of an underdog. Toki was a likeable personality, and the most lively and young-hearted of the five. He smiled through most of his interviews, and he had a natural authenticity that drew you to him. Even now. 

_Especially_ now. 

At the same time, however, the book betrayed its subject, as Toki had practically admitted in a _few_ chapters that he didn’t really put forth the same level of work that Skwisgaar did. 

The following event that Toki performed at had also ended in disaster, you remembered. Tragic.

He took your hand then, and you could feel your skin warm as you looked up to meet his meaningful gaze. “Thank yous,” Toki said, and he didn’t just sound thankful, but touched, deeply pleased to hear that you’d read his woes as an abused guitarist. He then leaned back against the seat, face falling a little, and he continued glumly, his hand still on yours. “No, it ams not new. I just don’t’s sees what’s wrong. I plays great, and I always learns, even if it takes longer, so why should I have to practice all the times? Maybe it’s just Toki’s way. I don’ts have to be doing the notes and the chords every seconds of the day like Skwisgaar.” He played some air guitar, doing a mock impression of the Swede, while sticking out his tongue and crossing his eyes childishly.

The tricky subject again. “You don’t need to do everything like Skwisgaar,” you said carefully, “but I also think he’s older than you, and he has a lot of good knowledge, so it can’t hurt to consider his suggestions.” Toki rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to practice _all_ of the time, it just seems like they’re asking you to practice....” you trailed off meekly. “_Some_ of the time?”

Toki folded his arms over his chest. “Maybes,” he agreed, sounding reluctant about it. “Skwisgaar can just be so means sometimes. He really riles me up and I cant’s sees straight.” He slumped further in his seat, seatbelt crawling up his stomach as he looked up at the roof of the car. “I’m sorry for last night, toos. He was in a bad mood, but was he at least nice to yous?” 

Skwisgaar had probably been in a poor mood because he was spending his time in the early hours looking for Toki, you thought, smiling a little inwardly. “Yeah,” you cleared your throat a little at the question. “Skwisgaar was nice to me.” 

Well, maybe the part where he had had your head shoved into the pillow, plowing into you from behind, hadn’t exactly been _friendly_, but it had been plenty _nice_. You shifted where you sat, thinking about it. Your cheeks grew a little warm.

“Yeah,” Toki said, more thoughtfully, and when you glanced at him you saw he was looking into his lap this time. Readjusting his posture, he withdrew his hand. “Skwisgaar is usually nice to girls.”

Not sure what to say, you laced your fingers over your own lap, feeling a little weird, before Toki broke the silence between you again. “William didn’t mean to say girls can’t play cards, he was just beings an asshole because he was mads at me.” 

You laughed. “I know, Toki. Thanks.”

The conversation leaned that way for the rest of the ride. You talked about what happened last night, and how Murderface had clocked Toki underside his jaw, and Toki showed you the red mark where it had been swollen that morning. ‘At least it’s not bruised,’ you said, but Toki mentioned that it still hurt when it was poked, and then he poked it with a hiss and an ‘ouch!’. 

The pair of you fell into several fits of giggles before the car came to a stop. Toki laughed loudly, filling the passenger’s cabin, and the sound of it would make you laugh harder by effect. When the driver let you both out, you noticed he had a plastic bag in hand, he handed it over to Toki. There was a dull clanging as aluminum cans collided. They were the non perishables that would be your tickets in.

The event hall was exactly what you thought it would be. A slowly decaying recreational center, bleeding paint on the outer brick with a poor weather-battered banner hanging over some propped-open double doors. _Dance Tonight! 4 – 10_. Mid-range sedans and SUV’s were parked out front in lines varying shades of grey and tan, and the type of people standing outside smoking were definitely in the middle-aged-single category. _Fuck_, you thought. You two might as well have just stayed right in front of your school. At least it’d be a heavier crowd. Looking at Toki, you tried to gauge his opinion. He only looked happy to be there with someone that (hopefully) wouldn’t ruin his night out dancing.

It was no Edison ballroom, but it was something. You would try to think positively about it.

Toki offered his arm to you, his back straight. “Wells?” He asked, and you took his arm with a half-curtsey. There was a door usher; an older, pot-bellied man with salt-and-pepper hair and coke-bottle eye glasses. He held out his hand, and Toki handed the gentleman the bag of cans. You both got an entry stamp on the back of your hands in the shape of an ice cream cone, and a free raffle ticket. Toki asked you to hold onto his, so he wouldn’t lose it, and you complied, charmed as you slipped both into the front pocket of your jeans.

Inside, the atmosphere was just as effective. It was an ordinary gymnasium, dolled up with paper streamers and a scattering of balloons. There was a salad bar, as promised, as well as a table full of procured potluck items and an over-large plastic punch bowl. There was a DJ, of sorts, sitting behind his equipment, on his phone. His laptop was plugged into the speakers, and all that was rolling out was a selection of oldies dating back to the mid century. At least he knew how to play to the crowd.

A few people were dancing in the center of the gym. You even spotted a few middle schoolers around, parents dressed up in nice enough clothes, relaxing instead of standing while their kids ran circles between the swaying pairs.

_Jesus Christ_, you thought. _I should’ve gotten a mickey to juice up the punch, at least._

Oh. That was probably the thought that got Pickles in trouble. It made sense to you, then.

“Would you like a drinks of the punch?” Toki asked, his tone a little more proper than it had been before. When you looked at him, it looked like he had stepped into the full Jehovah’s Witness character, his back a little straighter.

You smiled. Man, he was cute. “Sure, why don’t you get us some drinks and I’ll find a table for us.” You didn’t have a purse, and he didn’t have a bag, and neither of you had a jacket, so there was nothing to really leave at the table to claim it as yours, but the rec center was about half as full as the event planners seemed to have anticipated, leaving many tables empty and forlorn. 

He agreed, and you two parted. It didn’t take you long to find a table with no people, and you sat down in one of the four chars. Sliding into the metal seat, and crossing your arms on the table top, you thought you might have stepped into the twilight zone. The scene around you was straight out of your teenagehood. You’d been to enough dances and community events that nothing here stood out of place. Nothing, but one thing. Toki. Who, funnily enough, had decided to dress to fit in. It was absurd. It was…_cute_.

Finding him with your eyes, he was standing over by the punchbowl, filling two red solo cups with the plastic ladle. You found it uncanny. Nobody else noticed it was him at all – though, to be fair, the percentage of death metal fans who were attending there that night was probably low. When he turned, with both cups in hand, you watched as he looked for you around the room, brows drawn together in some boyish concern. Then, when his eyes met yours, a smile took to him, and your heart skipped a beat as his features glowed, beginning to make his way back to you. _Geez,_ you said to yourself. _This **is** like being a teenager again!_ Your face grew pink.

When Toki came up to the table, he placed both cups down gently, and took a seat beside you, rather than across from you. “My father would dance with my mother, sometimes.” He said, unprompted, and the comment surprised you, and you straightened up in your seat. You didn’t know much about Toki’s life other than that he _had_ parents, and that he was from Norway. There was nothing you knew about his family - other than that they had absolutely zero web presence. 

“Yeah?” You asked, taking a drink of the punch. Oh, wow. Bright, artificial, and tropical. Your lips almost curled inwards from how cloyingly sweet it was as well. Not that you didn’t like sweets, but your adult mouth had a hard time enjoying the sugar-packed treats of childhood.

“Not all the time,” he continued. “But sometimes he would puts on a records that he hads, it sounded like this music.” 

Grainy, and old, you imagined. With those far-away, last century voices. “And he would take my mother’s hand and they would waltz.” Toki’s voice sounded far away itself, falling into the memory as he peered into his own punch. “It was probably the only dance my father knew, though.” He snorted. 

The story was sweet, but Toki didn’t seem to give away how he felt about it, or how he felt about his parents. You remembered the solemn figures in dark robes that he had framed on his wall. “Is that why you wanted to come?”

He shook his head, and lifted the cup up, guzzling the punch. “No,” he replied when he set it back down. He didn’t seem to mind how sweet it was, at least. “I wanted to come because I wanted to get to knows yous.” The line was smoother than anticipated, and you raised your eyebrows. 

“I thought you wanted to come anyway, but I’m just a good excuse to go?” You called him out, giving his upper arm a soft poke. 

Toki laughed sheepishly, and used the hand not holding punch to scratch at his jaw. “Okays. Maybes when I saw the flyers I thought it would just be a fun place to pal around ats with the band, but then there was…” he leaned a little closer to you, whispering. “The Pickle incident.”

“Plus Toki,” you added.

Toki ignored that. “But because you were around I thoughts maybes because you are a,” he gestured at your general form. “…girl, you mights like it.” A nice sentiment, if not a little uh, sexist. 

You swirled the punch around in your cup, watching it turn to a red whirlpool. “Just cause I’m a _girl_? C’mon! Toki,” you waved your hand at the attendees. “This comes across as my scene?”

“Well,” Toki back tracked, looking even more sheepish, and now a little guilty, and he finished the rest of his punch before immediately, and enviously eyeing what was left of yours. “I did thinks you woulds likes it, but…I just likes to dance alsos,” he admitted, and you gave him your cup. 

“Maybe you got that from you dad,” you suggested offhandedly, and you watched Toki’s face soften from his embarrassment. He wore his heart quite plainly on his sleeve, you noticed, and a few of the off-hand things you _had_ said around him seemed to have touched him, somehow. Or, maybe he was just prone to being moved by sentiment. 

“Maybes.” 

The two of you people watched a bit, and Toki went back to the potluck table to refill the glasses, this time bringing you back a single serving bottle of sparkling water instead. He must have noticed that you hadn't paid your punch much mind the first go around. _Damn, Pellegrino?_ you thought, twisting it in your hand. _This rec center shelled out._ The stuff was disgusting, but you weren’t about to let some community fundraising dollars go to waste, goddamnit. A smile crossed your face without your knowing, quietly endeared at Toki's thoughtfulness.

You both relaxed into the atmosphere, and you watched the DJ stir from his vacant state as Buddy Holly’s _Everyday_ faded off. He leaned forwards to a mic, and while the DJ’s face remained pretty much void of expression and emotion, he gave it his all in his voice. 

“Alllllllllllriiiiiight everybody, boys and girls, ladies and gents,” he spun his best race-track commentator impression. “I hope everyone is having a wonderful, beautiful evening here at Orange Oaks Community Center. We’re going to switch things up a little here and call all the couples out onto the floor.” You heard a whistle and turned your head. Two elderly folk were making their wobbly way away from their table to the floor. What you assumed to be the rest of their family, a couple of kids and grand kids sat in the remaining chairs, clapping them onto the front. A couple of the younger ones pushed their moms and dads. Off the side of the main area, you saw a preteen girl shyly ask another preteen girl something, and they both walked out as well. “We’re gonna play some of that low, sweet slow stuff my friends, and we’re gonna start it off with Sharing the Night Together, by Dr. Hook.” 

Another oldie, but at least a little less old, you thought as the lights dimmed. You laughed to yourself. “They’re setting up the mood lighting,” you began to joke, but when you looked back to Toki, he was standing, his hand extending towards you. 

“Would you likes to dance with me?” 

Your heart skipped a beat again. “That’s what I came for,” you answered, and took his hand carefully. He closed his fingers around yours and helped you to your feet with a sharp tug. Your breath caught in your throat a little bit, feeling your body easily haul upwards with his guide, and you almost stumbled up against him. He steadied you with his other hand, coming around to laying softly against the back of your upper arm, his eyes sparkling with a usual cheerfulness. 

This close to him, looking up at him, you realized you never noticed how tall Toki was himself, and you let out an excited breath that you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

Toki was deceptively strong. Like Nathan, he was a trick of the eyes. Toki was young and healthy, and it showed on his face. His eyes were bright and large, and he smiled around you frequently and unabashedly. He invoked in you a childish sense of fun and curiosity, and you found yourself mirroring his expression. Happy and ingenuous. You instinctively wanted to draw closer to him; you felt that his strong arms around you would be comforting.

Moving his arm about your upper waist, Toki took you out on the floor with the other couples. Dates put their arms around each other and began to move back and forth as the music began to stream from the large speakers. Toki held you at a respectable closeness, your torsos together, but you two weren’t pressed up against one another. He held one of your hands in his own again, and the one around your waist moved a little lower, the tips of his fingers splaying across your opposite hip. 

You stepped in time to his lead as best you could. He wasn’t bad at it, and he made up for the fact that you were, and you wondered if that was because he’d watched his parents dance. You’d get a little embarrassed just looking at him as you two moved, and you’d either quietly laugh from the nervousness or look down to your feet to check in on your toes. Just to make sure they weren’t about to collide with his; not because, you know, you couldn’t stand to stare into his clear blue eyes and see how he looked right at you, not through you, or anything. 

“Why do you keeps looking away?” Toki asked, teasing you back for once. “You won’t falls if you do whats I do.”

You looked back up at him, shyly smiling. “But I can’t just _predict_ what your feet are going to do.”

“That’s what I means. You follow, and I lead. If you goes where I goes, you don’t needs to worry about anything. Trust me.” You looked at him very untrustingly in reply, and he matched you with his own teasing challenge. “Just try it, and looks at me instead of your feet.” 

You didn’t need that much convincing, and you gave him a theatrical sigh of resignation, keeping your head up as the two of you stepped together. You tried to focus less on your feet, and more on where Toki was actually taking you on the dance floor. He was making simple two-steps at a time, always turning to the right; probably just so you could follow along in an easy box. “See?” He said. “It ams not so bad.”

You nodded, a little reassured, and he looked glad.

In the moment, you realized you sort of forgot who he was. Who he _really_ was. Toki Wartooth. The sound of his name on the inside of your own head was enough to make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You could have forgotten, easy. He could have been any guy that had asked you out. But it wasn’t any guy, it was him. What the fuck.

And you looked down again, almost to catch yourself. Too bad it wasn’t actually a date.

“I said look at me.” 

You looked back up immediately. It had sounded more like a command than a request, and you felt your cheeks get hot for reasons you weren’t sure of. For a moment, there was a breath where Toki looked more serious than he did playful, more like a man than a boy, but it easily melted back into the fun look he had worn all night. “You looked down.” 

“Sorry,” you apologized meekly, your heart picking up. 

As the last song ended, Lionel Richie picked up. _Is that ‘Stuck on You?’_ You thought, then shook your head a little, blinking. Who gave a fuck. You felt Toki pull you in an inch closer, and your chest pressed up a little tighter to his, your hips comfortably near. 

How many dances did Toki know, and where had he learned them? Toki happily looked down at you and your knees felt a little weaker for it. You were overthinking, Dorothy. This was about enjoying the moment, before it was over, and you had to go back to your figurative Kansas. 

So you did; you enjoyed the moment as you two swayed back and forth like everyone else, and Toki would change the steps every now and again, just as you’d get the hang of one way. He seemed quietly entertained anytime you stumbled over yourself, though he’d keep you from falling. Catching his smirks, you feigned a glare his way. _Sadist._ you thought, sticking your tongue out a little at him, which he returned. 

He laughed first, trying to keep it quiet, but his laugh was loud, so his giggles came squeaking out of him like a rubber duck in a way that he had to cover his mouth with his hand. It made you laugh, too, because he was contagious that way. You barked a loud “Ha!” which caught some attention and you also covered your mouth. He put his forehead to yours, both of you giggling together in a little bubble of your very own. Faces red and eyes watering, feeding off each other in a stupid, silly cycle.

But as the fit died away, and you caught your breath, there was a moment when you both caught each other’s eyes, and Toki’s eyes glanced down at your lips, and then yours did to his, and you were very convinced that you might kiss, your breath growing shallow, and his eyes dilated. The music and the people faded into the background as your brain began to zero in on Toki in front of you. Your face was so close to his that you could feel his hot, cherry scented breath. His grip on you adjusted, like he were about to move his hands.

“Wasn’t that romantic, everyone?” The DJ belted over the speaker. You hadn’t noticed the song had ended, and the two of you both snapped your heads to look his way, startled. “Let’s all take a breather from all that lovey-dovey attention and give the room a little energy! What do you say?!” The lights came up somewhat, but not back to as full as they were. A half-hearted cheer came from some of the guests. “That’s what I like to hear! Now, a personal favourite of mine-“ 

“Hey, are you Toki Wartooth?” Another interrupting voice. Toki pulled away from you a little, and you noticed one of the middle schoolers who had been running around earlier was asking, just a little off behind you. 

Guess the percentage of Death Metal fans attending there that night wasn’t _zero_, unfortunately. 

The night was lost to the two of you from then. The girl called her friends, and they all came over to get something signed, and to take photos on their phones with him. You stood off to the side for a bit, before you eventually moved back to the table entirely, where you would spend the majority of the night. 

Toki’s time became monopolized entertaining the kids. He ran around with them, and apologized for not having his guitar with him that night, otherwise he might even have played something. You entertained yourself by drinking bad sparkling water and perusing around the salad bar and potluck goodies. You didn’t win anything in the raffle, either, but Toki cashed in on a five dollar off coupon to hot topic. 

Towards the end of the night, Toki finally returned to you as the songs were winding down to meet the evening’s end. Most people had packed up and left, including the gang of children that had been hanging off Toki the whole evening.

“Ams so sorry,” Toki said, heartfelt, as he put both hands on your shoulders like he had earlier in his bedroom. This time he rubbed your shoulders a little, as if trying to reassure you. Or maybe himself. “I really didn’t means to, I was having a fun time.” 

You looked up at him hopefully, wondering if you could recapture that magic moment again, where the two of you had been close, rocking back together in slow steps, lips hovering before lips…But, looking past his arm, you saw the DJ beginning to unhook all of his equipment and the lights were raised and some volunteers were beginning to fold away chairs. 

So much for one last dance. You’d gotten the chance to have a night one on one with Toki, but you’d only danced to two songs with him once someone had recognized who he was. That was the heat of fame, alright. “That’s okay,” you replied, patting him on the torso, just like earlier. “Maybe another time?”

It was a bold thing to say, but Toki smiled. “Yeahs, if you likes.”

You two had no things to pack up other than Toki’s new coupon, so you two decided to leave. The car and driver were there where you two had left them, and you wondered if they waited there, or if Toki called ahead at some point for them to come back and meet you guys. 

Just as the car door closed behind the two of you, and you buckled up, you felt the veil of enchantment that the night had given you begin to slip away. Like with Cinderella, the clock was ticking closer to midnight. Where were you going to go? You’d left your shirt and hoodie at Mordhaus, but you didn’t think that he was taking you back there. The weekend was almost over now, anyway, and you had school to think of. 

Reality. 

You were both tired, so you didn’t talk between each other as exuberantly as before, though you asked what he and the kids had been talking about. He said nothing important, and that he found them mostly annoying. He also mentioned that if he cursed they’d all go ‘oooohhhh shiiiiit’ which made him feel cool, as well as made him more annoyed, at the same time, because he’d be reminded they were dumb kids. You smiled. 

“I ams really sorry about leavings you there.” He said again after a while. He was slumped back against the car seat again, his cheek pressed against the headrest as he looked your way. 

“It’s okay, honestly Toki. I’m not upset. I’m just happy that I got to hang out for a while. I’m sorry that I stepped on your feet so often, though.” You apologized, laughing softly. 

Toki pulled his hair out of the low ponytail, combing his fingers through his hair to untangle it a little. “You really didn’t do it that oftens, you did a greats job! You should be proud. If we did it a little more, I’m sure you’d be even betters.” 

You grinned at him. “Did you say...practice makes perfect?” 

He looked back at you, smiling, caught red handed. “Fuck yous.” 

You both laughed again.

When the two of you caught your breaths once more, it was Toki who spoke first. “I hads a good time.” You were the one to look touched this time. He had it sincerely, and you nodded. 

“Me too.”

The whole while, you were pretty convinced the driver was taking you home. Or, to the campus if not to your apartment. This assumption came despite not having asked the driver, or Toki, but you thought that that made sense. There wasn’t a reason to go back, not for your clothes. He was rich enough to send them back, or he could throw them away, and you weren’t even so destitute you couldn’t even front the mailing fee yourself. Or, maybe you couldn’t. Mordhaus wasn’t just a pond skip away. However, when the car stopped, and you were let out by the Klokateer, you were shocked to see you were right back at Mordhaus. 

“Huh? Am I spending the night here again?” 

Toki frowned over your way, and it bordered on a sulk. “You don’ts want to?”

You felt your pulse pick up again, confused if the invitation was suggestive or not. You were, on one hand, feeling a little dizzy at being possibly propositioned by several of Dethklok’s members within a twenty-four hour span, but on the other hand, Toki Wartooth. 

But, not just that. It wasn’t actually really on the other hand, even. On the other hand, was the moments in the gym. How he’d gotten you something else instead of punch, because he’d seen you hadn’t liked it. That he had remembered your name; that he’d heard it at all. “I’d…I’d like to.” 

Toki’s sulk lifted like a cloud. “Aha! Let’s go, then.” He offered his hand to you, as he had many times that day now, and you took it so that he could lead you. 

Since you had been a little more clear-eyed and sober when leaving Mordhaus, you somewhat recognized the way back in this time. Toki at first seemed to be directing the two of you towards his room, but then he took a hall away, and up a pair of stairs into an adjoining wing. A little confused, you followed obediently, until he stopped and pushed open a random door. “Here!” 

You looked inside. It was a guest room. It was ordinary, with ikea furniture making up the bulk of the design. There was a double bed, a dresser, and two side tables with a lamp on each. It looked like the kind of room you would stick an in-law in for the holidays. “You…want me to sleep here?” You asked, uncertainly, and Toki nodded. 

“Ja! I’ll gets someones to wash your clothes, so you can have those backs in the morning.” 

You weren’t sure if you were disappointed or not, but either way you couldn’t help but be enchanted by his natural naivety. Maybe it was a little arrogant to think you were going to do a two for two on the Dethklok guitarists in a weekend. Things had been crazy in the last day, but some things were a little crazier than others. “Awesome. Thanks, Toki.” You leaned in the doorway. Some of the nervous anticipation that had been stuck to you for the last five minutes evaporated, and you felt even more sleepy than before.

You’d been awake less than twelve hours, but your eyelids were already commanding that they rest. “I had a really awesome time. Honestly. I didn’t think I’d like dancing.” All the parts that hadn’t been spending time with him, of course, had still been lame, but you’d still treasure the memory. What a crossing of worlds. 

“Me toos,” Toki responded, and he stood there for a little while, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

You both stood and stared into each other’s eyes, the space around you quiet and close, and the atmosphere shifted like it had on the gym floor. You could hear your heart in your ears, and you wondered if you should be bold enough to ask him to come in, and spend the night with you. 

Toki acted first, as he had most of the night, and you noticed he was beginning to lean down to you. The nervous anticipation flooded your system again, and you were entranced by his blue, blue eyes on yours. You closed your own eyes as he neared, tilting your chin up so that your lips might meet his, but the kiss didn’t come. Instead, he pressed his lips gently to your cheek, the whiskers of his moustache tickling your face a little, and your eyes fluttered back open. 

He withdrew a little, keeping his face near yours. “Sleep tight,” he whispered your name. “I’ll see yous tomorrow.” He withdrew completely then so that he could retreat back down the hallway. You didn’t stop him, watching him head down the stairs. Your throat felt dry and your body, hot. Though your every interaction with Toki tonight had been quite close, and intimate, nothing had escalated. You told yourself you were just over eager, and that your mind was jumping to conclusions because of your encounter with Skwisgaar. 

Geez, Pickles was right. You _were_ a guitar slut. 

You let out a loud exhale when Toki was out of sight, lifting a hand to touch the spot Toki had kissed. It felt warm and tingled under your fingertips. “Good night, Toki,” you whispered, and disappeared into your new room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked it, as always! Thank you for reading <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and the boys go hiking! Things get exciting, and a little (or a lot) dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starts off with NSFW!

“On your knees.”

The command was confident, ordered at you, and you obeyed. Your hands were spread apart by a thin metal rod that laid across the back of your shoulders, each of your wrists strapped to its ends. Your bare knees gingerly met the cold stone of the floor, and a shiver ran up the length of your spine. The whole of the room was stone, dimly lit, and freezing. Your nipples stood hard at attention. 

Toki smiled at you, pleased, and his warm palm met the top of your head. Stroking your hair fondly, lovingly, his fingers ran softly down the breadth of your cheek, and down your jawline. His touch left you tingling, your groin wet between your legs. The cool air of the room gave your warmth some relief, and you sighed sweetly. 

“Good girl,” he spoke, lowly, his fingers stopping underneath your chin so that he could tilt your head up. Looking at him from below was enchanting. Shadows caught his face and body severely, and he looked commanding and frightening in a way that made you ache inwardly for him. His thumb pad rested against your lower lip, pushing it down somewhat. Your mouth was stretched around a fat rubber ball-gag, and he admired the view while you looked up at him doefully. The shape of his arousal was pronounced, highlighted by torchlight, and constrained by the tight leather of his trousers.

“I wants to be nice to yous,” Toki said again, his hand pulling away from you and moving to his own belt, studded and thick around his sturdy hips. “But when I look at you like this, I wants to be cruel instead.” His hair hung in his face, and if your hands weren’t bound, you would have liked to run your fingers through it, to tangle it in your grip, and mark your nails across his scalp. The ends of your fingers twitched in response to your wants, but your nostrils could only flair, and your eyes could only bat wantonly, your voice trapped behind the gag. 

“You’re beautiful likes this. Helpless.” He cooed, and he freed his half-tented cock from their leather confines. It sprang out impressively, at attention and red with desire. It stood over you, and Toki couldn't help but for a moment rub the shaft of it against the side of your cheek. You could feel that he was even warmer than you were. He tapped the head of it against your cheekbone, leaving a mark of precum behind, before stopping himself to withdraw a black cloth from his front pocket. It was silken and long. A blindfold. “I wants to have you unders my control. May I?” It was a soft request; you knew he’d do it whether you liked or not, but you certainly liked, and you nodded, thighs trembling as he tied the cloth around your head, covering your eyes. You couldn’t see, and every sensation heightened excitingly. “I wants to sees what you’d do for me. All that’d do for _me_.” His voice was unusually low from husk and arousal.

The chill of the rock against your knees, the breeze that could brush your hot, feverish skin, and any contact your skin was able to have with his as he tied the blindfold made you want for more, maddeningly. Your arms still suspended, and now blind, you felt completely vulnerable. An involuntary noise of your eagerness escaped around the gag. “Enoughs with this thing.” You heard him move, and then a click, Toki unhooked the gag from the back of your head and carefully removed it from your mouth, mindfully of your teeth. “Your mouth ought to serve a higher purpose.” 

Without his instruction, you parted your lips expectantly, and you were rewarded with the feeling of velvet soft skin against them. You kissed the warm head of his cock and you heard him inhale sharply, his hand finding its way to your head again. He pressed into your mouth, and you took him without resistance, enjoying the sweet sounds he made as you did so. He rubbed his thumb gently behind your ear, and soon he was shallowly thrusting. 

He was large, filling your mouth and asking that you relax your jaw and throat and challenge yourself to open up more for him. “Open,” he coaxed, using his other hand to firmly grab your lower jaw, gently stretching your jaw as you followed his order. “You knows you can take it alls if I wants you to.” A lower whine left you, and you wished you could grab onto him; wished that you were allowed to _speak_ to him. Though, you knew you couldn’t. 

It was part of the rules. You could only talk when he let you. 

A firm, palm-side smack met the side of your cheek, where he had buried his cock, and your hips rolled forward sharply. You lifted up slightly straighter on your knees, your teeth only slightly coming down around him. It stung, but only a little. Only enough to spark an even more intense desire in you. “Shhh, sweet girl,” Toki groaned, his strong hands gripping your head, holding it stiffly in place as he pushed his length down deeper. "I said, open up, You want to do it for me, don't you? Wouldn't you like to make me feel good?" My, wouldn't you. Your throat softened as much as you could manage, though the excitement you were feeling made your body tense and excitable. You were hungry to be touched, and you took it in the form of his length in your mouth. Your tongue lay flat, and you strained your jaw open under his grasp. 

While you might have to be quiet, Toki was more than vocal, breathing his heady pleasure often as he grew rougher. He fucked your mouth, keeping it open as you made gasping, choking sounds around him. It wasn't just your efforts to please him he liked, but your struggle to actually take him seemed to do more to arouse him, and his other hand hooked tightly into your hair, holding your head as he liked.

Growing sloppy with his rough thrusts, he’d graze your teeth, then hiss and moan at the sharp contact. You thought he’d come soon. His voice was pitched and the underside of his cock against your hot tongue pulsed and throbbed readily, but suddenly he pulled away, a wet noise accompanying the sudden act, and he gave you another slap. Harder this time, and quite unexpected. Your head turned somewhat, some stars lighting up behind your vision as the pain struck you. Your face panged with red pain, but it still wasn’t…_unpleasant_. 

Your inner walls tightened at the impact and you let out a frustrated, breathy sound. He grabbed your face, and you heard him crouch before you. “You’re so cute.” A third firm slap, on your opposite cheek, before he crushed his lips against your own.

You made out with one another hungrily. Mouths were open and needy, and he bit at your lower lip, and would pull away to suck kisses against your jaw and neck, only to return to your lips more desperate than before. His hands slid from your face to your chest, cupping and groping at your breasts; he massaged his fingers into the flesh and rubbed your nipples with the pads of his thumbs in strong circles.

It was becoming harder to keep yourself quiet, and your wrists strained at their bindings. You ached to touch him, draw him closer, you were panting each time he pulled away from your lips, and you wished you could ask for it. Fuck, you’d _beg_ him for it. Toki slowed his onslaught of heavy kisses and began to pull away, and you leaned forward, attempting to chase after his lips. 

He laughed, the sound low and ragged, giving your nipples each a sharp pinch, twisting them lightly. You bit your lower lip and groaned at the delicious pressure. You almost wanted to disobey the rule; how bad could a punishment really be? 

But then he hauled you up to your feet with a heart-fluttering ease. You made a sound of surprise as you wobbled, out of balance with the spreader bar strapped to you. But Toki’s grip was confident, and he helped you stabilize yourself. Once you were on your feet, you let out a breathy laugh despite yourself, feeling a little silly, naked and blind. 

Your ass was given a sharp slap and you yelped again, but this time you felt his fingers curl around your throat, applying a careful but tight pressure. He kissed your cheek, and used his free arm to draw you close to him, wrapping itself around your waist. “Naughty girl.” You could feel the leather of his trousers against your bare legs, the hot bare skin of his strong torso pressed up against your breasts. His erection hard against your stomach. He made a ‘tut tut’ sound, his tongue clicking against the back of his teeth.

Your breath was shallow, excited for what was about to happen next. Toki whispered hotly into your ear. “You’re the best toy I’ves ever played with. I’ll take my time having fun with you.”

\----------

You awoke with a start, bolting upright in bed.

Déjà vu.

The room was different. Again. The guest room of Mordhaus. Or, _a_ guest room, at least. Your heart was knocking hard against the inside of your ribs, and you felt warm all over, the insides of your thighs a little slippery. Damn. Always had to wake up during the good parts. 

Carefully laying back down, you stared up at the ceiling, trying to clutch at the coat tales of your dream, which was already escaping you.

You remembered Toki’s strength, how he manipulated you with his grip, just like how he’d pulled you out of your seat last night. You remembered how he drew you with his words. Or rather, his _command_. Toki had been nothing but nice; you didn’t know where that idea came from. That he’d be a little mean. That he’d slap you and grab you. Your pussy twitched at the thought. It was embarrassing, now that the morning was wafting over you, that you had fantasized about him only a few halls away, but you didn’t feel _too_ bad about indulging in it a little.

You knew you were blushing, growing excited again. You’d felt…owned.

Three hard bangs hit the guest room door and you scrambled upright again. “Uh, one minute!” You answered, voice rough with sleep and it cracked in the middle of your speaking. You were mostly naked. You hadn’t been given any pajamas to sleep in, so you made do with your underwear.

Another three knocks. “Just – Just a second!” You tried to call back again as you quickly jumped into your jeans, hopping on one foot as you pulled up the legs, and as you hurried to the door you went to grab your hoodie – but you remembered you didn’t have it. 

For a second you stopped, eye catching the shirt that Toki had leant you. Your opportunity had been lost in Skwisgaar’s room, but you weren’t going to pass it up this time. You had an excuse, even. What else did you have to wear? You snatched it off the floor and tugged it over your head as you finally answered the door. 

Outside stood a large man with a black executioner’s hood pulled over his head. His arm was raised as though he had been going in to knock again. “Good morning, miss,” he nodded politely, and you did the same. “You’ve been invited to lunch with Dethklok. I’ve been sent to bring you.” 

“Right now?”

The Klokateer nodded. You weren’t in need of a shower, and you guessed you could bear wearing three-day-old underpants and jeans. As far as you could tell, nothing smelled. 

“Uh, alright. What time is it, anyway?”

“It is twelve thirty in the afternoon, miss.”

You blinked, a little taken aback. You were surprised to find you had slept that much, since you had done so much sleeping yesterday, as well as got back at a relatively decent hour last night. You nodded again, and the Klokateer put out an arm towards the hallway. “Follow me.” He started, and you followed, leaving your things behind in the guest room as you let the door fall shut behind you.

You at first thought that you might be going back to the dining room, but instead the Klokateer took you down a new series of hallways and several staircases until you were met with a hall that ended in a set of impressive castle doors. It looked like a dungeon, or the entrance of an underground dock.

It was almost like the dining area, except it was some sort of recreational room. Massive, full of games, lounging chairs and other entertainment. It was some theater-pool-room-bar hybrid. Impressive. Rockstar life, huh? 

The boys were all there, eating at a table together. Plenty of food had been shoved onto the table. They were all talking tiredly among each other. Nathan and Pickles sporting sunglasses and leaning back, sipping on some orange cocktail, and contemplatively poking at their greasy sausage links. They must have had a late night.

The Klokateer gestured you in with a sweep of his arm, and bowed his head again, before he let you inside and closed the door. He stood by, standing watch, and you moved further in, heading awkwardly over to the table.

Each of the bandmates had their own preference of breakfast before them. Murderface had a stacked plate of the all American; fried eggs, sausages, bacon, toast, hash browns, pancakes, waffles - all lathered in butter and syrup and strawberry jam, and he nursed a midday beer on the side. Skwisgaar had a bowl of fruit salad and whipped cream before him, while Toki sported some toasted dark bread, topped with a white spread and smoked salmon. 

Your stomach rumbled, and at the same time, the group noticed your arrival. There seemed to be mixed opinions of happy to see you and disinterest.

“She’s still here? Jesus, is she gonna like, start uh, paying rent or something-“ Nathan began.

Toki rolled his eyes. “She’s my pals!”

“C’mon, Nathan, she’s alright. Hey, come and sit down!” Pickles called you over, gesturing that you take an empty seat between him and Toki. 

You did, and Pickles gave you a squeeze on the shoulder for reassurance. It was almost difficult to look at Toki, after your dream. His chiselled torso and powerful hands appeared likes ghosts in your mind. As if he could see right into your thoughts, he asked, “how did you sleeps?” You glanced over at Toki and smiled, trying not to look as devious as you felt. 

“I slept great. It helps that I went to bed at a decent hour.”

“Can’t relate,” Pickles added, stirring his cocktail around with the straw. 

Looking over to the drummer, you smiled more easily. “How late did _you_ stay up?” You glanced down at his drink, which smelled strongly of beer. “And what is _that_.” 

Feigning a sneer your way, Pickles stuck his tongue between his teeth at you. “Longer than the two of you pussies, that’s for sure. And it’s a _michelada_. It’s a Mexican cocktail, don’t’cha know.”

“And a great hangover cure,” Nathan said.

“Thanks for inviting _me_ last night, by the way,” Murderface spoke up indignantly, sounding sore about it, and Nathan gave a long groan in response, grumbling something about it being too early for William to be on this bullshit. 

“Hey, I’m inviting you along today, so show a little gratitude, how about that?!” Pickles snapped back.

“I didn’t gos either, Williams.” Skwisgaar spoke up, popping a grape into his mouth. 

Murderface stood up in his seat animatedly, slamming his palm flat against the tabletop. You startled, but no one else batted an eye. “But did you get _invited_?!”

Skwisgaar looked up, bemused. “Wells, duh.” 

“_See_?! that’s the shit I’m talking about!” 

From your other side, Toki gently touched your elbow, and you looked over. He had a small plate of breakfast delights in his other hand, and he set it down in front of you. A scone lathered in orange jelly, a trio of assorted baby muffins, and a chocolate filled croissant. “Are you hungry?” He asked, after he’d put them down. “Yous should try the poppylemon one,” he pointed out the little yellow muffin, speckled with seeds, and you smiled a little at his mispronunciation. 

When you thought about it, you were hungry. You’d basically had one and a half meals yesterday, and at the mention, your stomach grumbled again almost on cue. “Thanks,” you mouthed back, and took the muffin, peeling off the wax paper. As you did, Pickles grabbed you by your other shoulder again, and your attention was pulled back to your right. 

“Look, I felt bad that all you got to see is a pair of babies fighting the other day,” Pickles began, and as you glanced back at said ‘babies’, you noticed Skwisgaar and Toki roll their eyes at the same time, the both of them then muttering something unintelligible under their breaths. “So I thought we should invite you to hang out with us today.” 

William spoke up, one cheek stuffed with breakfast foods as he began to bark his retort, some debris flying from between his lips. He pointed an accusatory fork at you. “But you better be cool, got it? Not all of us wanted you to come.” 

You put up your hands in a ‘well okay, fuck me I guess’ sort of way, before you bit the top off the muffin. 

“See, this is why we don’t invite you places. Y’can’t play nice!” Pickles exasperated. 

“And you also know the rules, Murderface. Majority vote.” Nathan answered back, leaning away from Murderface and his noise, putting his thumb and forefinger to his temples. “So maybe if you voted it’d be different, but now she’s coming.” 

“It’s my right as an American to abstain!” Murderface countered, and Toki shrugged this time. 

“Sos then you lose, and we gets to brings her along.” 

They had voted on if you should come along with them or not? You wondered who had voted to bring you along, and who hadn’t. “Where are we going?” You asked. 

Sliding his sunglasses down his nose a little, Pickles grinned over at you. “It’s a surprise.”

You first thought that you might be going to another recording session, one where you’d actually get to hear some music, but then you wondered if that might be too obvious. It’d have to be band related, surely, if Pickles was trying to make up for yesterday. You wondered about the track that they were struggling to get recorded, due to Toki’s negligence, and you felt yourself beginning to smile at the idea of seeing them all play close up.

_How stupid,_ you thought. You were literally sitting here with all of them, what did it matter if they were on a stage or not? But, like this, they weren’t Dethklok. They were just…guys. Which wasn’t bad; not at all. You found it easy to talk to them, though you thought you had been mostly talked over since you’d arrived. They were accommodating, for celebrities, and casual. While you felt like you were getting on with them, for the most part, you still would love to see them play. 

You’d never seen Dethklok play live; you’d heard that being at one of their concerts was magic. You’d like to be there to feel it sometime.

Nathan checked his phone, before tucking it away again. “Speaking of which, we better uh, get out of here before Offdensen catches us. He wants us in on the meeting to discuss the Andrew situation.”

The Andrew situation? You didn’t feel like it was your place to ask, so you didn’t, and your curious looks at Toki and Pickles yielded no answers either. If you were going to the studio again, you also wondered why the group would have to hide from their manager. 

Everyone nodded along with Nathan and started to push their various plates away from themselves, all in differing stages of emptiness. You looked down at the little dish Toki had given you, stomach rumbling sadly as everyone began to stand. Taking a napkin, you wrapped the chocolate croissant up. It wouldn’t hurt to have a treat to go.

When you all stood up from the table, and began to move for the door, you noticed that Skwisgaar had his eyes on your chest, as he looped his Guitar over his back. You thought he might be staring at your breasts, but as his brows came together slowly, and the corners of his lips folded down into a gentle frown, you looked down too. You thought you might have dropped some jam or something on your front, but there was nothing but the graphic of the two guitars. The group of you began to all move towards the door, moving in pairs now that there were six. 

Skwisgaar moved in beside you, waving his hand at your shirt. “What’s thats?”

You blinked a few times and looked back down to the shirt, pulling the hem of it forward somewhat so you could see it better. “Oh, it’s a shirt Toki is letting me borrow.” You felt like you were in trouble, for reasons you couldn’t pin down, as Skwisgaar pursed his lips a little, nostrils flaring with a sharp exhale through his nose.

Toki, who was standing in front of Skwisgaar, standing alongside William, glanced over his shoulder a little as the two of you spoke, but then continued talking to William animatedly. 

“Hm.” Skwisgaar noised.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothings,” he lied, plainly. “Did you twos have fun last nights?” 

You nodded, stuffing your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. “Yeah; or at least I know I did.” You eyed the back of Toki’s head, but if he were still listening to the two of you, he didn’t give any indication. “We went dancing.” 

Skwisgaar looked down at you, brow crooked. “Dancings?” 

Funny. That had been your reaction exactly. “Yeah, and it was nice. We didn’t go anywhere fancy or anything, it was just a night out.” A good night to wind down. When you thought back on it, that’s what Toki had said he needed. To get out and let his head clear a little. You hoped it had worked, and that he felt better today after having some fun last night, even if things hadn’t really entirely gone as planned. 

“And thens where?” 

You shook your head. “Nowhere. We came back here after the place closed and I slept in the guest area.” 

After that, Skwisgaar’s face softened somewhat from it’s intimidating, cool structure. “Oh.”

“Oh?” You asked, and wondered what about the shirt had set him off to begin with, glancing back down at it. 

“I thoughts….” He started, then seemed to decide against it, as he also eyed the back of Toki’s head. “Nothings,” instead, he waved his hand dismissively. “I feels bad for yous, havings to deal with the cry baby all evenings.” With the same hand he reached forward and shoved at the back of one of Toki’s shoulders, smirking once more. 

Toki stumbled, then turned with a scowl, smacking Skwisgaar’s hand away. “Shut ups Skwisgaar.” He shoved the blond back.

“Quit arguing,” Murderface cut in before Skwisgaar could further escalate things. “You two behave,” he scolded them, like a frustrated father. “We’re going to have a nice guys day, and nobody’s gonna fuck it up this time.” He jabbed Toki in the middle of the chest with one finger. “That means _you_, bucko. Reign it in.”

Toki’s jaw gapped like a shocked child’s might. “He pushed me first!”

“I don’t care who pushed who first, I’ll finish it!”

Outside, the Dethshuttle was waiting for you all, parked out in front of the steps of Mordhaus.

You all piled onto the bus, and Nathan headed to the front to pass on instructions to the driver, while everyone else spread out on the built-in couches. 

The ride was short, but pleasant. Everyone seemed to be in a morning mood, waking up and chatting. William fished out a couple more beers for the group to share from some upper cabinets. You declined, still not feeling like you needed to start drinking a half hour after you woke up, though you did enjoy your croissant. 

Otherwise it was mostly quiet. Nathan took a nap in one of the rooms, and Skiwsgaar moved his guitar back around to his front, picking at a few well practiced notes while he lounged. The rest of you played a few hands of Frustration to kill time. There was a cooler full of drinks propped up by the couch that had been prepared before any of you had boarded. 

_Klokateers,_ you thought. _Not your average roadies._

After an hour or so the bus rolled to a stop. When you all climbed out, you were met with an empty stretch of highway. The bus had pulled up to the side of the road, where a rest stop had been paved out in a semi circle for drivers to catch some sleep on long trips. The highway was lined with trees and wild field, and one end of the pitstop tapered off to a dirt road, which lead between two net rows of pine. 

Curiously, a worn and rusted pickup waited at the entrance with its windows rolled down. It might have once been a shiny hunter green, but age and weather cultivated blooms of rust along the body, and the driver’s side mirror had been duct-taped back on. It had seen better days.

As Murderface got off the bus himself, he half-jogged over to the driver’s side of the truck and fished his hand through the window. After a moment he triumphantly pulled back with a set of keys around his finger. Nathan walked over to him and gave him a crisp high five. Murderface then unlocked the truck and climbed in behind the wheel, while Nathan moved around the front of the truck to get in on the passenger’s end. Everyone else began to climb into the bed, Skwisgaar and Pickles helping each other get the cooler in. 

Toki waited near the back of the bed and reached his hand out to you to help pull you up. Easily he hauled you in with the rest of the boys, and your stomach flip-flopped as your dream refocused in the back of your mind. You instinctively grabbed onto the front of his shirt as he steadied you, and he laughed. “I gots you,” he assured, and you could have flashbacked to that moment on your knees, but he was then helping you over to a wheel well so you could sit a little more comfortably. He sat on your left, both his knees bent upwards. 

Skwisgaar had already positioned himself at the front of the bed, leaning back against the rear window of the coach, one of his longs legs spread out, while his other was bent at the knee, arm slung over it. 

Latching the tailgate shut and securing the cooler against it, Pickles took a seat across from you, sitting on the opposite wheel well. Once everyone was settled, he procured a clear plastic baggie from his back pocket, shaking it your way. It was full of some dried, grey sticks, and you were confused for a second, before a dehydrated mushroom cap fell more clearly into view. 

Oh hell yes. Shrooms. 

“You ready to party, dude?” The stems were shriveled and layered with a white, blueish fuzz. They twisted and curled, the ends of the caps bending in on themselves like sad umbrellas, and they were large.

The engine huffed and puffed unhappily as William began to crank the engine, and soon the thing came to a roaring whirl, the body shaking with life. You grabbed onto the edge of the bed and laughed. “Yeah, I’m ready to party.” 

“Captain first!” Murderface barked out the window, sticking his hand out and back, waggling his fingers expectantly. Pickles handed the bag off to Skwisgaar, who passed it into the window. Through the tint, you watched the shapes of Nathan and Murderface dig through the bag, and soon it came back out and around to Skwisgaar again. Before giving it back to Pickles, he fished out a few caps and stems, and then so did the drummer. 

Pickles gave it to you, next. You had only done shrooms once before; you and a bunch of friends during your freshman year of university had almost pissed yourselves laughing to The Holy Grail after enjoying some shroom tea one of them had been gifted. You hadn’t felt much of the hallucinogenic effect, instead you remembered feeling giddy and giggly the entire time, falling into an almost catatonic state of laughter every time the knights would cross through the screen, knocking coconuts together.

Grabbing a couple of the shrooms, you passed the bag along to Toki while bringing the bulbous end of one stem to your nose. They didn’t smell like much, dry as they were. A little like dirt, but nothing else. You looked up at Pickles, who was smiling at you. “On three?” He asked, and you nodded. Skwisgaar had already bit into his, but you and Toki waited for Pickles to count down. 

“One…two…”

William threw the truck into reverse, and with a jerk, it rolled back and then he kicked it into forward, pulling out cleanly from the pitstop and turning down the dirt road. You nearly slipped off the wheel well with the momentum, but Toki’s hand lifted up to catch you around your lower back, keeping you in place while he laughed.

“Three!”

You crammed the stem into your mouth along with the other two. It was dry, but there was some chewy give, like biting into a piece of cardboard. There was virtually no taste, so it was otherwise not unpleasant. 

“Yugh,” Toki made a noise beside you. Looked like he didn’t agree. “These tastes like shit.”

“Wells theys are not exactly white truffles, Tokis.” Skwisgaar snickered, mouth turned up in a smirk. 

“I knows that!” Toki protested.

“It’ll take a while to kick in,” Pickles explained. “So sit back and relax.” He demonstrated, leaning back against the side of the bed, his elbows propped up on the lip. “We’ll be feeling it by the time we get there.”

You’d like to know where ‘there’ was, as the truck moved along at a steady pace, winding through stretches of forest and field. Pickles double dipped into the bag, and the three of you enjoyed quiet company for the next fifteen minutes. You watched the sky pass above you, listening to Skwisgaar’s constant fingerpicking, and Toki’s occasional ‘wait, what chords was that?’. Pickles was mostly quiet, enjoying the trip like you were. You were met with the smells of spring spruce and dry earth as the tires upturned the road, and after a moment, you realized you’d been smiling the whole ride, catching your reflection in the back window. 

This was nice.

“Don’t you have school or something?” 

“Hm?” you blinked and looked back at Pickles, who had asked the question. “Oh. Yeah, actually. Tomorrow.” It would be Monday. The weekend had passed in a dream and a whirlwind. You almost forgot it was Sunday. It had felt like you’d been on holiday, and you still had time to relax and unwind. 

The reality of it seeped into your bones like a cold and you slumped in your seat. The excitement that had been building all morning sunk. 

“Oh come on, don’t’s kills her buzz before she even gets ones.” Skwisgaar sat forward in his seat, pausing in his constant practicing.

“Yeah! What the fuck, Pickle?” Toki chimed in, giving Pickles sneaker a solid kick. 

“Oh! Hey, what?!” Pickles lifted his leg, holding the sore spot with both hands as he eyed Toki’s foot warily. “I’m sorry! I just mean, she’s gotta have a life or somethin’ to go back to, right? I mean, it just sort of feels like we’ve kidnapped her or somethin’ you know?” 

The three of them turned to look at you. 

It did sort of feel that way, when you thought about it. Especially the ‘surprise’ trip with the five of them in a weird old pick up down a lonely dirt road. “I mean, I just have school really. I got a full ride through school, so I don’t really need a job, and I have my own place so I don’t see my family all the time.” Thank god for that, too. Family was the worst.

“That’s gotta be nice. Family is the worst,” Pickles echoed your inner thought and you nodded, laughing softly to yourself.

“Amen to that.” What time you had was usually spent between musical leisure, doing dumb nonsense with your friends, or studying. You hadn’t involved yourself in too many heavy commitments. “I work part time at the school radio sometimes, but it’s more like an extra credit gig.” You didn’t get paid, but you collected volunteer hours. At least it was something for the resume, you supposed. 

“What do you do in radio? Do you run your own show?” You shook your head in response, but before you could explain what you did, Pickles went on. “Y’know, I used to know a guy who did radio at T.U. When I worked at the diner I’d slip him my solo-mixes and he’d play them. Late spot, but good guy. He did me a real solid. Three a.m. exposure is better than no exposure at all.”

You pictured young Pickles, full of piss and vinegar, handing off a cheap cassette to a greasy 80’s AV student, and grinned. 

“I guess we’ll have to drop you off back from wherever they got you from tonight.” Pickles scratched at his goatee thoughtfully. “That’s too bad.” 

The sentiment was nice. It was nice to know that he enjoyed having you around, and when you looked over to Toki, he didn’t look very happy with the idea of you going back, either. Skiwsgaar was unreadable as before, comfortably thumbing the strings of his guitar. “Yeah,” you agreed. “Too bad.” 

“You know, I’m surprised you’ve been letting me hang out at all. I don’t imagine you guys usually pick up fans off the side of the road and take them home with you.”

“Not unless I’ve given them a ten,” Pickles joked, and you shook your head with an amused smile, giving his foot a nudge – not a kick, like Toki had. “But seriously, Skwisgaar brings chicks home all the time.” He considered what he said. “Actually, we kinda all bring fans over to bang. Being famous has a lot of pull. You wouldn’t believe the kind of ass Michael Cera has hangin’ off that prepubescent body at any given moment.” 

You hadn’t considered Skwisgaar really being the one who had brought you there, and you didn’t think you’d been brought _just_ to bang, since it was Toki that seemed to have wanted to spend time with you. You had met Toki first, and arrived with the pair, but the boys had only seen you disappear down a corridor in tow with Skwisgaar. As for the Michael Cera trivia…you didn’t really care to think about that. “Sure, but like, you didn’t kick me out, either.”

“As longs as you don’ts go arounds sniffing our underwears in secret or somethings, or collecting our bandaids, it’s not bad to have somebody differents around.” Skwisgaar answered this time, to your surprise. “Either its producers this or Charles thats, or the same other four assholes hangings around.” He looked poignantly at Pickles and Toki. “Talking to a beautiful girls is much more betters.” He smiled his cool smile toward you, his blue eyes half lidded and flirty. 

Fuck, he oozed ‘rockstar’. But it was strange to you the way he could turn on this gentlemanly charm, and at the same time treat you impersonally. Yesterday, he’d almost acted as though you weren’t in the room at all, completely unphased by your being there. When he’d come to get Toki, he’d been irritated and cold, but growing closer to his bedroom he warmed up more and more. He was an Ice King, for sure.

Ice King Rockstar.

“Ew, don’t try to finger her while we’re still in the truck man,” Pickles wrinkled his nose and mocked a vomiting motion. 

“Jas, leaves my friend alone.” Toki said, sulkingly off on your other side. 

Skwisgaar laughed mockingly at Toki. “_Your_ friend? Oh, sorries, I dids not realize that she coulds only has one friends?” 

“She cans have other friends, but I don’t needs to see my pals doing it either.” 

You let out a loud sigh. “We’re not going to ‘do it’,” you included the air quotes with your fingers. “Alright? Relax.” You looked at Skiwsgaar. “And I’m not going to go around sniffing anybody’s underwear or – what did you say? Licking bandaids? I won’t do that, either. Thanks for having me around, that’s all. It’s gonna suck going back to being a normie.” Even if you hadn’t really done anything that you figured famous people did, you didn’t want to go back to routine or regimen. You could do this all day; hanging around bickering boys who fought about poker games, and bitched about work, and you’d go to community dances and go trucking and get high. 

Though, that wasn’t actually out of the ordinary in your current group of friends.

Speaking of high, however, you began to feel it. When you looked back to Pickles, his hair stood out in vibrant hue. His dreads were a glossy, inviting red, and you noticed how pink and flush his nose and cheeks were. His green eyes looked back at yours, shining and shifting into blue, purple, and green again. “Whoa,” you breathed. 

“Oh shit, she’s feeling it already!” Pickles grinned his sideways smile. 

The three of them leaned into you, each with a different expression of curiosity. Toki looked somewhat cautious, watching your reaction. “Wells, no fuck, she probably doesn’ts does this all the times. Especiallys not with this kinds of stuff. Ands she didn’ts really eats anything, either…Are you sure that this’ll be okay for her-”

“True,” Pickles interrupted, and failed to answer the incoming question. “What do you see?” He then asked you, redirecting everyone’s focus back onto you. 

“Uh, I don’t know. Everything but like, brighter. Like someone’s cranked up the saturation big time.” Your body felt a little looser as well, and each bump that a tire would hit in the road felt like a great wave swell, and you gripped the side of the truck tighter, feeling like you’d hit a pothole and that you'd go flying off the back. “You’re so red, what the hell.” It was mesmerizing. Like a human fire. And his dreadlocks looked almost plush to the touch. 

“And your hair is like…like elmo.”

They all looked between each other, and then they all started laughing, Toki the loudest as usual. “Whats? Elmo?” 

Pickles was gasping, his eyes tearing up as he tried to suppress a coming onslaught of laughter. “Like, Sesame Street?” 

“Yeah!” You pointed. “Like his hair…fur?…Muppet skin.”

Pickles and Toki laughed out loud again, and curious to see what all the commotion was about, Nathan stuck his head out the passenger side window to see what was going on. “You guys sound like you’re having fun.” 

“She’s set us off early!” Pickles excused, wiping the tears from his eyes with the knuckle of his thumb. 

The ride continued on for another twenty minutes, and as the colour grew more interesting around you, so did the sensations. You wished that you could touch everyone’s hair, fascinated by the differences in vibrancy and texture, and occasionally when you looked up at the sky you were convinced you could see the earth rotating around you.

You were giggling too, in little eruptions as you would realize the silliness of it, and then the feeling would fade, and rise again softly. The feeling of the high climbed up through your body in delightful shivers, and you found yourself wrapping your arms around yourself, grinning as you slid down from the wheel well and into the bed, propping your feet up between Pickles spread shins on the parallel well. 

“Cutes,” Skwisgaar commented, and he moved up which caught your attention, and the truck began to slow as Murderface made a right down a narrow one-way road, heavily forested on either side. 

Above you, all the boughs of every tree seemed to sway in unison, the needles dancing together as they cycled between bright pops of sea glass green, crystal blues, and shadowy blacks. Each ray of sunlight glittered with up turned dust in the mushroom cloud of your high, and you smiled over at Toki, who was now about as gone as you were. He was smiling, too, enjoying the views and sensations around him, occasionally taking your fingers in his own, tracing the purple and blue rivers of your veins in your wrist, awed. 

You didn’t mind.

“Your hands is so small,” he remarked, smiling like he was endeared. 

“Compared to _yours_, maybe.” You laughed, watching his long broad fingers delicately map out your knuckles, and the ball of your palm. 

“We’re here!” Murderface and Nathan said in unison, interrupting you two as the truck came to a full stop in a small, open area. It was surrounded by trees, but it otherwise looked like a very ordinary (if not very private) camping ground. There was a stone firepit with an iron rack sitting over it, a steel barrel for trash, full of squirrel gun holes, a weathered wooden picnic table, and a trailer, large enough to host the lot of them. 

Everyone climbed out the truck as Murderface put it in park near the trailer, and Pickles took out the bag again to pass around. “Anybody in need of a top up?” 

Though you felt like you were still climbing, you took another cap as the bag came around your way. Why not. Today could be your last day with them, and you actually wanted to _do_ something. No distractions or plans going awry. 

Nathan started to build up a fire, despite it being early in the day for it, and Toki helped. Murderface climbed into the back of the bed to retrieve the cooler on his own. “Need any help?” You asked, watching as he inhaled deeply to brace himself for the weight. 

He looked you up and down with a narrow, suspicious gaze. “I got it,” he mumbled, almost shyly, as he grabbed the handles tight and hauled it out of the back and over to the picnic table. You followed along behind.

“Wow, you’re a regular Tom Selleck, hey?” You said.

Murderface’s face got red at the comment, and you were worried you might have pissed him off, but he didn’t snap back. Instead, he stood a little straighter, thick arms crossed over his chest as he sat at one corner of the picnic table. 

“Well, I mean, sometimes I _do_ work out, you know,” he boasted quietly to you. Nathan and Toki grabbed drinks for the group, and everyone rallied at the table.

Nathan handed you a beer, and when you put up your hand to refuse, he nudged your palm with the butt of the bottle encouragingly. You took it, and Pickles uncapped it for you with his keys as he took a seat on your right. Toki landed on your right. 

“My grandma loved this place, I guess.” Nathan mentioned, offhandedly. “She said so in one of her journals. It’s where her first husband asked her to marry him, I guess.” He looked around at the little clearing, vacantly observing the trees and the trailer. Skiwsgaar sat across from you, and Nathan sat on his left. “Now it’s like, a trashy campsite and he became soup. Brutal.” He uncapped his beer with his teeth, spitting the lid off into the grass. 

_Soup?_ You wondered, but nobody around you reacted surprised, and Nathan didn’t elaborate.

“I’m sure throwing trash on the grounds helps,” Toki added sarcastically, leaning down close to the table and forming a little gate with his hands. William, across from him, flicked his own bottle cap towards Toki’s palms. Toki caught it, and they began a game, switching roles between goalie and shooter.

You yourself, became sucked into the natural world around you. When you looked at the ground, all the blades of grass moved as one, as the branches of the trees had. All things moved together, and then the ground began to wave and pulse, like the earth itself were breathing below your feet. You found that you were holding your breath, trying to hear what it sounded like, but then you realized the sound of the boys talking amongst each other was drowning it out. 

You looked up, and smiled, inhaling deeply. The smell of spring growth as fresh and excellent on your pallet, the smell of green and newness and the last kiss of winter. 

Even Mister Ice King himself glowed, his halo of golden hair spilling in thick waves over his shoulders. Your mind seemed to teleport into a living memory, as you recalled the Rumpelstiltskin fairy-tale. While it was cruel and sad that the girl was kept away to spin straw into gold, you thought that the thread must have been the most beautiful, and together it would sparkle like white starlight under the sun. And wasn’t that Skwisgaar’s hair? Like spun gold. Or maybe, maybe you were high - but you remembered how it felt in your hands. Soft and thick.

His eyes were not as pale as Toki’s, but they were dark and clear like the Antarctic sea. Colour, all the colour absorbed you. If you’d looked just a little over, your sights might have been struck once more at Pickles complex reds and umbers and elmo-ish appeals, but instead you were entranced by the Swede’s stately glow. 

Skwisgaar noticed you staring eventually. He looked at you, and he smiled. It was a lazy, stoned grin, and as you stared into his ocean eyes you saw his pupils dilate. The shadows under his eyes were richer, purple near the corners. The square of his jaw was sharper. His lips beckoned you, and you wanted to lean across the table and kiss him.

Whoa. You caught your breath again. What _was_ this shit? It was some powerful stuff.

Someone’s phone rang, and you turned, spell broken, seeing Toki checking his pocket. “Awe mans, it’s Charles.” 

“Don’t answer it Toki,” Nathan warned. “We’re out to have a good time and de-stress. Just like you wanted, right?” 

“We’re out hear to have a good time because it’s _guy_ time, not because of Toki.” Murderface tried to argue but Nathan shot him a look. The look set William off a little and he flicked the bottlecap right in the middle of Toki’s forehead, making him yelp. “Tell that Stephen Colbert looking motherfucker to leave us alone how about that.” 

You laughed out loud, louder than you intended, which made you laugh more. For once in all your few interactions, William’s shoulders relaxed a little, eyeing you with some form of approval. 

“Give it here,” Skwisgaar gestured for Toki to hand over his phone, which he did, and Skwisgaar promptly denied the call, switched it to silent, and handed it back. “Theres.” 

Toki frowned, but put the phone back in his pocket, the problem evidently dealt with for now. “He’s goings to be real disappointed in us.” 

“Wasn’ts it _yous_ yesterdays who said you wanted to haves a good time? Just like Nathans is sayings?” Skwisgaar pointed out and Toki pouted, quietly conceding. 

“Wells, if we’re goings to have a good time, why don’t we do hiking?” Toki asked, gauging the groups reaction. They all grumbled and mumbled various excuses, looking away. “Come on!” Toki persisted. “That’s halfs the reasons we’s even here! Yous all said we woulds!” 

No one seemed to bite, avoiding responsibility as well as eye contact with the upset Toki. 

“I wouldn’t mind,” you offered, and Toki brightened. 

“Sees? She’s a real friend!” The sentiment didn’t do much to move anybody to action. “How about yous, Williams?” You looked at Murderface. If you looked too long at his hair, you felt like you could see it warble and puff out like the ground was doing. Sometimes it looked bigger than his head. Sometimes it looked like it was three separate sections, twisting around on his head.

Looking incredibly reluctant, Toki put on his best begging eyes as he stared Murderface down, who made a point of not looking at him directly. “Toki, we just got here, maybe we can unwind a little before we go anywhere, let me enjoy a beer first…”

“_Please_, Williams?” Toki asked again and Murderface looked at him, expelling a loud and obnoxious sigh. 

“Fine! Fine. You assholes, you come too.” He pointed at everyone else. 

Nathan just side eyed Murderface, focused on peeling the label off his beer bottle in one clean piece. “Nah, I’m alright.” 

“Y’know, I think I’m good too.” Pickles raised his beer bottle, in a silent ‘cheers’ motion. “But you guys have fun.” Murderface glowered at the two of them, slamming his fists on the table irritably.

Last on the roster was Skwisgaar, and you, Toki and Murderface looked at him. He intently tried to ignore the stares but then Murderface smacked him with the back of his palm. “You want to stay here getting fat and lazy with these sorry bastards?” Skwisgaar grimaced at the contact and rolled his eyes. 

“You’re ones to talks about fats and lazy,” He countered. “But fines. I’ll come.” 

Toki and Skwisgaar stood at the same time, then you and Murderface, who groaned loudly as he did so, as if this were the biggest pain in his ass. Murderface loaded his shorts with a few bottles of beer for the road, readjusting his belt so the weight wouldn’t take them off, and pickles tossed you the baggie of mushrooms. “For the road!” He called, and soon the lot of you were off. No water or snacks or walking sticks or other reasonable hiking prep. 

The clearing had two footpaths leading away from it, each clearly marked with small colourful flags. The group moved to the closest one, marked with bright orange, and you followed behind. “Give me some of those,” Murderface waggled his fingers towards you, nodding at the shrooms in your hand, so you obliged by dumping several pieces into his cupped palm. You also helped yourself with another, cause why the fuck not, and then Toki dipped in as well, seeing the two of you huddled together. 

“Tokis too! Skwisgaar, do you want some?” He asked, but Skwisgaar refused, shaking his head and holding up his hand. 

When you’d all had your fix, you continued, and around you the forest felt full of life. You were already quite high, and the effect of walking past trunks patterned with lichen, mushrooms roosting in their gnarled roots, past the sprouts that broke through the black ground in bright yellows, greens and sparkling whites was enough to send you spinning – you felt like you were walking through one of those 3-D fun houses at a fair. The trees felt like they were spiraling around you, standing out in pronounced, blocky shapes, and dancing to and fro. Everything jumped out at you in hyper-detail.

There was no fog with shrooms; unlike marijuana. You could almost believe you were sober, if you didn’t know that it should be unusual that every leaf seemed to turn over in perfect synchronicity. If you didn’t know it weren’t normal that each time Toki looked your way, his eyes were a different, more intriguing colour than before.

Bizarre. 

“Don’t you agrees?” Toki asked, and you realized you had been staring at him, walking side by side, for who knows how long. And he’d been speaking to you. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” You asked sheepishly. “I’m uh, I’m kind of stoned.” 

Toki smiled, patiently, amusedly, brushing his bangs away from his face. The curtain of hair flickered between dark blondes, auburns, and chocolatey browns. It was great stuff. You’d have to remember to thank Pickles for bringing you along. “That’s alright,” he said. “Wes were just sayings this place could do with a little musics.” 

“I forgot my guitar,” Skwisgaar lamented.

Murderface shrugged. “You don’t have an amp anyway.” He kicked a large rock out of the way, and it tumbled down a gentle slope. 

“Acoustic wouldn’t be bad,” you mentioned, and altogether the three boys cringed and made disgusted noises, all actively leaning away from you. 

“Grandpas guitars is the worst!” Toki complained, and Skwisgaar chimed in with an enthusiastic ‘Jas!’

You snorted. “It’s not the _worst_. It’s just different than Death metal.” You paused. "Well, a lot different. But it isn’t _bad_.” Some soft guitar while you were basking in the wonders of your shroom based visuals would be nice. You reached out and gently ran your free hand along the waxy leaves that reached into the path. Once, you had to stop to examine the healthy moss that enveloped most of a tree that arched over the trail. Leaning into the bark, it almost looked like the moss was crawling up the bark like a carpet of a caterpillar, and its strange textured surface opened up like many, beady eyes, looking at you. You looked back, in wonder. 

“Hey, do yous hear that?” Toki said, stopping in the middle of the trail to crane an ear upwards, listening to the wind. You all stopped, trying to catch what he was listening to. 

“Is it thats birds?” Skwisgaar asked.

“Nos-“

“Is it the woodpecker?” Murderface tried.

“Nos, no birds-“

“No, it’s the tapping you’re hearing, which would be the beak hitting the wood-“ Murderface insisted

“Its nots a birds!” Toki repeated. 

“Is its-“ Skwisgaar started again, but Toki put up his hand to shush everyone.

“Shhhh! Just listen!” 

You all fell quiet, coming together in a little circle, as though it would help. When you were all quiet, you could hear the sparrows that Skwisgaar mentioned, and the clear, quick knocking of a woodpecker hunting for bugs. You could hear the wind in the leaves, and Murderface’s heavy breathing. 

Then, water. 

“Oh…” You whispered, and your eyes met Toki’s. “It’s a river.”

He grinned. “That’s its! Let’s go see it!” He took your hand, and your heart skipped. You were coming to enjoy that.

“Which way?” You asked, and everyone looked up. Skwisgaar, tallest of all, narrowed his eyes and stood on his toes, as if he could see over or through the overgrowth and trees.

“I think it’s coming down there,” Murderface pointed in a random direction, and both guitarists shook their heads. 

Skwisgaar jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, the opposite way. “It’s definitely comings froms overs there.” 

“Ja,” Toki agreed, and Murderface scowled, kicking another rock. 

“Whatever, fine, fuck you.”

The four of you set off, parting from the dirt path. Skwisgaar lead, disappearing behind a thicket and some large, heavy pine boughs, and then Toki lead you through the same way.

Something about your feet stepping into the soft earth and away from the safety of the footpath set a feeling of unease into you, and you remembered you had nothing that could help you in the wilderness. In front of you, you felt reassured by the sight of Toki’s back, the cotton folding over his strong shoulders, his fingers secure around yours. It helped put the anxious feeling at bay, and you squeezed his hand lightly. Looking over his shoulder once, he squeezed yours back with a soft smile.

Toki pushed away a bough and let you pass under and in front of him before he let it go. You heard a soft thwack as the spiny branch came in contract with Murderface’s torso. “Youch! Fuck off Toki!” Toki laughed, and lead you on. 

You all followed a narrow, natural trail down a serious of mini slopes, and slowly the sound of rushing water could be heard over most other things. Like a storm gale, the power of the rapids pounding against rock excited you. You wondered how the water would catch the light, if there would be fish, if the whirling white waters would cycle into whirlpools in your high. 

None of you saw it until you were nearly on top of it. Skwisgaar stopped short of it first, and Toki bumped into him a bit, but not enough to push him into it. The trees grew short and angled on the riverside, reaching out and over with greedy green leaves. The brush around it was thick, and the trunks were heavily mossed. The trees had nearly hid the river, which, as you looked upon it, seemed almost impossible now. 

The river was wide, and from what you could tell, deep enough that you all ought to be careful around it. The river bed was a few feet above it, and it roared with ferocity below. The rocks were high and standing as menacing golems in the rapids, and the river curved sharply around a bend that you couldn’t see around from where you all stood. It was a magnificent thing, churning with natural power, working against the rocks with invigorating gusto. 

“Now that’s metal,” Murderface said, and you nodded with agreement. 

“Its sort of like a train engine. Chugga-chugga-chugga-“ Toki mentioned, and Skwisgaar agreed beside him. 

“Ja, if you listens, when the water drops off the second set of rocks downs theres,” Skwisgaar pointed off towards the bend, where a short fall came just before the turn. “You cans hear that. Nice percussion. Pickle would appreciates that. Like that times in Niagara Falls. That shit was so intense, the force of those waters can power a city, or crush a man.” He curled his fingers into a fist as he said it. “Cans you believes peoples threw themselves over that shit? Brutals." 

Murderface nodded, picking up a stone from the ground and tossing it against one of the large rocks. It cracked in two and dropped lifelessly into the waters. “See?” He said to you. “This would be some great song inspiration. Add Pickles slamming through this in time with the rapids, maybe Skwisgaar doing the thing,” he mocked some air guitar, and you remembered how Toki had done the same the day before, and laughed. 

“Like yous knows anythings about making a song,” Skwisgaar snubbed, and a petty argument ensued as you peered into the river.

The best part of the water, for you, was the colour. Where the rapids met the river, the water swirled white and black, and then moved into steady moving waters that gleamed purple-blue. It all moved too quickly for you to enjoy the swirling and pulsing of the visuals, but you felt still mesmerized by the saturation and complexity.

“Hey Tokis, checks this outs.” Skwisgaar gestured to Toki , moving up the bank. He used a long arm to grab an out hanging branch and used it to move around a tree that blocked the upper half of the bank. “Hey! Tokis!” He waved. “Comes over heres, its looks really cools! You can sees a waterfalls a littles ups the way from heres? Supers awesomes?” 

Toki moved to grab the branch too, so he could swing around the tree too, but his other hand was still holding yours. He tugged you forward, and then you tugged back. “Whoa there, cowboy.” You hesitated. “I can’t reach that far.” 

Frowning, Toki looked at you, your hands, then at the branch. “Hm. Wells, maybe I gets to the other sides and sees if we can get you around somehows.” You nodded, though you didn’t feel like that would be particularly likely. 

“Sure, I’ll wait here.” You promised, and Toki let you go. When his hand left yours, that feeling of unease returned to you. 

Your memory teleported again, a memory of you as a girl, flipping through the pages of an ever-growing horror collection. In Stephen King’s _Cujo_, there was a passage that always struck you. 

When driving to the house where Cujo was waiting, the mother, Donna Trenton, felt a lurking sense of dread hanging on her shoulders like a ghost. She headed into the lion’s very mouth, and she would not come back a normal woman. And she knew.

As Toki turned away from you, and grabbed the tree, you felt like Donna Trenton. Like you’d never return home as a normal person. That you were climbing into the lion’s mouth. You didn’t like it, and your skin prickled with goosebumps. Shivering, a mushroom-ridden- excitement chased away the strange feeling of dread, and you looked away, instead turning to the other person who couldn’t swing around the tree. 

William Murderface. 

He looked at you for a second, then looked away into the river. 

And then back. 

“Hey,” he said, in an even tone that you hadn’t heard out of him yet. Usually he just sounded angry, or like he was sulking. “I’m sorry, about before.” He sounded like his guard was down, his voice low and casual, though he had a hard time looking at you for too long. Almost like he was too embarrassed. He coughed and cleared his throat. “Ahem, er, I was just pissed off at Toki. I shouldn’t have been such an ass.” 

The apology was completely unexpected, but happily so. You never expected anything, and you didn’t feel like it was too bad that he was the least accommodating. He _hadn’t_ invited you, you basically invaded their space. Or at least, you had thought so before now. 

You had told Toki you knew he had been a jerk because he was angry with the guitarist, but all the little negs and jabs started to make you feel like he was just a regular jerk instead. Which was still fine. You’d watched all the live concerts and interviews on TV. He was a PR nightmare. 

So, this was triple unexpected. “Thank you, I figured you might just be a little upset. Which is fine! Honestly, I totally get it. I hate getting blown off, too.” Nothing was worse than waiting around for someone to show up after you made plans, then getting stood up when it was too late.

William nodded. “Thanks, uh. You’re alright. I didn’t vote to have you here one way or the other because I thought you probably weren’t all that bad, by the way.” He admitted, like a child might on the playground, and you grinned. 

“Thanks, Murderface. Hey,” You leaned a little closer to him. “Can you tell me who else voted or is that confidential?” 

William snorted, placing his hands on his hips. “Who gives a shit about voter confidentiality? I’d piss who I voted for into the gym wall! I don’t give a shit! Let’s see here, obviously Toki and Pickles voted yes’s, then I abstained…Nathan was a no,” 

You frowned. Nathan was the most distant from you. He didn’t try to engage you in conversation at all, and he hadn’t bothered to say but a couple of sentences to you. At the same time, you didn’t get the feeling that he didn’t like you, so it felt too bad that he voted you as a no. “Why? Do you know?” 

“He just thinks you’re gonna cause problems.” Murderface explained, and your frown deepened. 

“Why does he think I’m going to cause problems? I don’t really get up to any misadventures if I’m going to be honest.” Well, you did, but you didn’t think your misadventures were at the same level as what you knew theirs could be. 

Murderface chucked another stone against the rocks. “Cause chicks or fans usually cause problems, and you’re both.”

You sighed a little to yourself. You’d have to accept that. You didn’t know Nathan, and he didn’t know you. Putting you at a cautious distance wasn’t a bad idea for a celebrity. Privacy was key. It’s why Charles Offdensen had gotten you to sign the papers, and why nobody else told you not to do it. They had wanted you to. “And Skwisgaar?” 

Before Murderface could answer, the Swede himself shouted from up on the bank, and then so did Toki. Not with alarm, but with excitement. “Hey, hey!” Skwisgaar yelled down to the two of you. “Something cools is comings down the river. It looks like a big snake!” 

The word snake alarmed you, in your high mind you envisioned some massive, yellow anaconda slithering through the blue rapids, and Toki added, “or a dragons!” 

Both of your interests piqued, Murderface and you leaned over the bank to see what was coming down from the other boys’ end. 

It was large alright, but from close where you two were, you could see it wasn’t a snake or a dragon. It was a log, red and mustard yellow in colour, matted with orange lichens and rich mosses. It bobbed and rolled impressively in the waters like a great beast. The stumps of two branches forked out like horns from the front end of the log, where’s its mouth had caved on one side. It was a wonderful illusion of a dragon, if you squinted. Or if you were wicked high.

“Oh shit, that’s sweet!” Murderface exclaimed. “I bet I can touch one of those gnarly horns.” 

Another tree that leaned far over the river was on his other side, and he quickly moved to tightly grab hold of one of its branches. He then leaned over the edge, arm reaching out as far as it could.

“I don’t think this is a great idea,” you warned, that sense of unease now festered in your gut, multiplying per second as you watched the large trunk come barrelling down the river.

By chance, the log rolled his way, and he cheered, sure to be able to graze it now. “I think you should get back!” You yelled, and paced quickly over to Murderface, anxiety rippling through you, followed by the unusual and delightful shivers of the drug. 

“It’s no big deal! I’m just gonna touch it! Look, here it comes!” The log came through and Murderface strained to reach it. He went to sweep his fingers along the flat, mossy side of the trunk, but the log rolled again, and up close the prongs were a good foot and a half long. 

Everything from there happened in slow motion. 

You could almost see it before it happened, and you were reaching for Murderface, intending to pull him back from the edge of the bank. One of your hands grabbed his belt, your other, the front of his shirt. At the same time one of the dragon’s horns tore into Murderface’s vest, hooking him, and then both of you were swept off the side of the bank and into the mercy of the river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! It took me a while to get this chapter out, cause adulthood and all that. I'm sorry about that! You can expect most of my updates to happen during a weekend, though.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Things should get a little more exciting from here.
> 
> EDIT: I made a tumblr called vodkaexplorer if anyone needs to reach out to me or get status updates on my fics! Feel free to interact with me there?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murderface and you are tossed around the river, and you share a moment with Skwisgaar. NSFW chapter

There is no up or down in space, nor trapped beneath torrential waters.

It was cold. 

The water hit you like a thousand needles, shocking your system. The wind was knocked out of you in a swell of white bubbles and your skin strung with frozen pain. 

But then – and maybe, maybe it was the mushrooms, but time stopped around you like a living snapshot. You felt hyper aware of your turbulent surroundings; everything moving in a slow-motion tableau. With your heart pounding hard in your ears, you could feel one of your shoes leaving your foot, and you could see - well, practically nothing actually. 

The water was dark and murky, but free of debris. The blue-green iridescence you’d been privy to on the shoulder of the bank was lost underneath its lapping waves. No; below it was brown, red, and distorted with stirring sand. The dangers were the hidden rocks in the river’s depths, and how the power of the waters would beat you both down below the surface. In the murk you couldn’t see Murderface’s actual face with any clarity, but the shadow of his upper half. His confused and flailing arms disturbed the dirt and sand around him.

His belt didn’t budge, having been tightened earlier before the hike. You were thankful for that now, your fingers securely hooked around it as you both were dragged downstream. The log had torn straight through his vest and moved along, leaving you two in the trail of its wreckage. 

You weren’t immediately aware that you couldn’t breathe, staring in blind wonder up at the slow rippling above you where the foam crested and broke on the surface. But then your arm cracked off a rock, elbow bending inwards, the start button resumed. You cried out airlessly as your hands broke from William. 

Separated, you were ripped from one another, and you watched William’s silhouette disappear into the copper darkness. You were tossed around helplessly, rolling at the river’s whims and gasping for breath that wasn’t there.

Your arms grappled out as you attempted to grab onto anything and stop your careening. You hoped to meet something stationary that you could grab, but there was nothing but water. You were pushed up to the surface once, where you sucked down a greedy lungful of air, but your shoeless foot caught a root, and you were dragged below again with momentum. You came down fast, and before you could see it, the flat face of a black rock met you, and you cracked your forehead off it sharply.

Pain lit up along the front of your skull and your body fell almost limp with impact, your foot jostling loose and your hands moving to do what they could to protect your head as you rag-dolled along, confused and frightened. 

There was a real moment where you thought that you could actually die. You would drown right here, in the river. You’d thought before, you’d met Dethklok, you could die happy, but you didn’t really want to die here at all. Your chest constricted desperately asking for more air, but you could only sigh out into the river and inhale water back in. Things slowed again as your lungs filled liquid breath, and you were able to turn flat onto your back, suspended. You could be floating in the middle of the ocean. You couldn’t feel the heavy waves now.

Music called to you, as your stared upwards, the picture of the bleary sun flickering in your view. 

Sweet music, soothing and alluring, and strange. It sounded like it was coming deep in the river. It was a woman’s voice, faraway and dark, but clearly a woman. Between the slippery river-weeds and below the smooth rocks, you could swear it was coming from there, below the bedrock. You felt compelled to turn over, to peer into the bottom and through the stone. 

As you did, you found you were coming up sharply to a network of broad roots. They spilled out into the river from the bank like twisted fingers. You lunged a hand forward to attempt to grab one, but the wood was slippery and sloughed away under the tight, wet, grip of your palms. You bounced off a fat bend of root and off into the flow you were again.

Your head turned wildly around you, trying to recognize which way was up again, and how to fight towards it, fear griping you with its icy, watery fingers, your lungs choking for breath. You kicked your legs and arms desperately, searching for the surface, and out of nowhere a hand gripped the back of your shirt and heaved you upwards. 

Murderface. 

You couldn’t have been happier to see the bassist’s grim scowl, other than maybe when you had first seen it.

You’d come together again somehow as the water began to slow. You were out of the rapids for now, but you remembered seeing a second drop when you both had still been on the shore. You swallowed large gulps of air, coughing what water you had accidentally swallowed down your chin. You splashed around until you knew you were treading steadily above the surface, but Murderface didn’t let go to the back of your shirt, his eyes wild.

“Jesus!” He yelled out over the river. “We need shore!” 

That much was obvious, but there wasn’t going to be much time before the two of you would be dropped off the second rapids, and then pulled around the bend to who knows where. 

Hadn’t Skwisgaar said he’d seen a waterfall from where he’d been, around the tree? Had he said if it was up or down stream? Your heart plummeted into your stomach as panic replaced it.

You were both near the bank; a sign of why you’d seen the roots below. You turned yourself around towards it and gestured for William to follow, patting his wrist reassuringly. “We’ve got to try!” You yelled, gesturing over. He let you go, and you did your best to kick against the current towards the closest stretch of the bank before you two were pushed too far towards the center of the river. 

You didn’t think you’d done a proper front stroke since your last high school gym class, and you struggled to keep your head above water and your breaths even. Murderface laboured behind you, keeping up, but then he cried out in a gargling yelp as water filled his mouth. His fingers wrapped around your ankle and you followed him underwater.

You two went spiralling together. He’d caught an under current somehow and you were both rushed away from the bank.

Twisting, twirling, you knew it like a hard, round ball in the pit of your guts. The second set of rapids was coming, and before the thought could even finish, you were the there again. You and Murderface ping-ponged between rocks. He let go of you, but this time you didn’t part, instead rolling and smashing into each other in the water in a confusing blur of limbs and water. You were sure your knee had come in contact with his face as some point, and his foot once connected hard with the center of your back as you both were uncontrollably tossed. Any time your head came above the water you took a breath, taking in air and water both. 

If you survived this, you were sure to be sore, but you couldn’t feel anything but the gripping anxiety and the desperation to get out of there. You jettisoned to nowhere, and by the time the both of you came back up, you noticed that you were in a part of the river that you didn’t recognize. You must have come around the bend. Looking behind you, the river turned sharply in the opposite direction. 

There was a loud percussion that fell behind the rest of the river’s noise. Louder than rapids and splashing both, your ears began to ring.

“Fuck, it’s a fucking waterfall!” You turned back to look ahead. Murderface was treading slightly in front you, his noise bleeding profusely into his moustache now. 

You looked towards the horizon of the river, your stomach cold as that drop grew closer and closer to the two of you. But as you were both compelled to it, you noticed the waves lapping over a shape just for the fall. You grabbed Murderface by the sleeve of his t-shirt. “The log!” You cried out. 

And it was. The lip of the red dragon’s mouth jutted out at an angle. It must have been dragged under water and was now lodged upright somehow. The drowned pillar was mostly still, though it rocked occasionally with the natural power of the moving water. A tree reached out over a rocky flat stretch of bank that preceded the falls, its long branches reach yearning towards the log, like a rope. If you could make it to the log, you might be able to make it to that tree, and then shore. 

Safety. 

“We’ve got to grab it!” You persisted, and Murderface nodded along.

The log was within grasp, and you kicked your legs hard so that you could reach it. You sprang an arm forwards, and the tips of your fingers were rewarded with the mouth. You hooked your hand around it and stopped. Your legs were pulled towards the direction of the falls, but the log remained secure. You could feel it wobble in the water, but you were grateful you had stopped. 

Murderface joined you, heavy-handedly grabbing onto the log as well. There was a shift, but it didn’t fall. He looked at you and gave you a pat on your back, just nodding quietly as he caught his own breath. When you both looked up, the branches played out invitingly towards you, but it was still a little too far to reach from where you were. The waterfall was close now that, if you two missed, there wasn’t going to be any second chances. You could try to kick out now, but the closest branch was just a foot more upstream than the log. 

"Maybe I could throw you.” Murderface suggested, seeing the same problem.

Looking at him incredulously, you shook your head. “That’s not necess-waagh!”

He grabbed you around your middle and under your rear, heaving you up sloppily in the water, and chucking you upstream and forwards a few feet away. You flailed out, unprepared for the sudden launch, and hit the water on your side. You dipped under head first, somersaulting below the surface before coming back up to air. The low-hanging branches of the tree were just above you, their flat yellow leaves beckoning. While you might’ve thought it was a terrible idea, the few feet were just what you needed, and you grabbed hold.

With the momentum of Murderface’s throw, however, the log shifted dramatically. While you plummeted forward to hit the water on your side, the log tipped, and as you came up you saw Murderface be pulled down again. 

So close to the falls, you could hear the steady drumming of the water against the bottom rocks, and you were terrified that Murderface was back in the pull again. If he was, there wasn’t anyway you’d be able to get to him now. 

“William!” You cried out, uselessly. You only had seconds to debate if you should continue clutching to the branch or not, worried that he were either hurtling towards his doom over the falls or that he were steadily drowning just under the surface. The branch was thin and bowed with your weight into the river. While long, it wouldn’t be long enough to reach him, where-ever he was now. 

You took a deep breath, released the branch, and plunged. 

The water wasn’t much clearer here, but you could see the red log. It was laying now, and underneath of it, a thrashing shadow. Murderface was trapped.

You kicked your way down to him, using the beds of river weed to pull yourself to him quickly. As you grew closer, you saw that his lower leg was caught below the great log, bent at an uncomfortable angle. Murderface was shoving at the body with little avail. It would shift, then fall back into place before he could free himself. You grabbed onto one of the prongs once you grew near enough and looked around with haste. 

A large rock shaped like an arrowhead was holding the log in place, you saw. The rock stood vertically, and when Murderface would push the log to encourage it to roll away, the rock would keep it from doing just that. Using the body of the log to crawl over to the rock, you kicked at with water-softened blows, hoping to bump it enough out of place. 

One kick.

Nothing. 

Another. 

Still, nothing, and you felt that your foot wasn’t building up enough force before it would strike. 

You grabbed hold of to the log in a better position, curling up your body to provide yourself precious momentum. Using both legs, you brought your knees to your chest and kicked again. 

The rock shifted slightly, the dust unsettling at the base encouragingly. Your heart skipped a beat, hopeful, and you could feel your air running low, which meant that William’s was lower. Curling up again, you went for the hardest kick you could manage, and with luck, the rock fell away, the log rolling away lacklustre. Murderface tugged his leg free, and both of you began to head towards the surface. You had both moved downstream from the branch you had first been able to grab, but you were now nearer to the shore, with a second branch just as close. William grabbed it first this time, and he hooked an arm around you to help you to it as well.

Pulling yourselves to the shore was the easy part from there, but your whole body was shaking once you finally pulled up onto the dry rocks.

Coughing up water on the side of the riverbank, you and William both stood on your hands and knees, trying to find your breath. The rocky shore dug into your palms but you could care less, glad to feel the sun against your back. Your body felt weighted again, and you clung to your one spot. 

A heavy hand clapped on your back, and you looked to see Murderface at your side, now on his feet, but hunched and weary. “You alive?” He asked, breathing heavily. 

“Barely,” you nodded, wiping your wet mouth with the back of your wet hand. The cold spring air hushed across your stinging forehead, and you were reminded that you’d hit one of the rocks face on. You reached up and touched the cut, wincing as your fingertips made contact. You hissed and pulled back your fingers. There was blood, vibrantly red. “I think I’m okay, though.” Your elbow stung, and giving it a cursory look, it was already swelling to the size of a baseball. It was at least unbroken, you could tell, by the way you could put your weight on your hands.

William nodded, eyeing your forehead, before he pulled out the only beer that had survived the river fall from his pocket. Looking about, he grabbed a palm sized, flat rock and used it to de-cap the bottle, tipped it into his mouth and generously drank from it. He slurped it down as spillage dribbled down his chin to his shirt, and when he’d finished most of it, he handed it over your way. He was still bleeding from the nose, and bruises were lighting up around his hands and bare forearms. Looking at your own, you could see the same effect.

You took it, with a nod of thanks. You could use a drink. You finished what was left, and not sure what to do with it, you handed it back to William. He tossed it between his hands before chucking it into the river. “Stupid fuckin’ nature.”

Far off, you could hear voices, and you both looked up and turned to see the two tall guitarists making there way towards you, waving their arms wildly. “Ares yous okays?!” You heard Skwisgaar shout, his hands cupped around his mouth. Murderface did the same.

“I think I got a fuckin’ branch up my ass but otherwise, we’re alright!”

They both came up to you, scrambling a bit on the rocks as they slid your way. When they came to stop before you two, Skwisgaar put his hands on the top of his thighs, slightly hunched over and panting. Toki’s chest heaved himself, though he seemed to be in better shape. “Oh noes! You are hurts.” 

“Yeah, but you know, it takes more than a fuckin’ log to take down Willi-“ Murderface began, but Toki moved past him to you. Murderface inhaled some blood back up his nose from his immediate irritation, then wiped it off on the back of one hand. “Yeah you know what, never mind, right, better check the chick, make sure her fuckin’ nails aren’t broken.” He was muttering mostly to himself at that point, as Toki – and quietly, Skwisgaar – checked on the gash at your forehead. 

“I’m okay, too, honestly.” You reassured, though you weren’t _really_ sure. You were sore already, feeling adrenaline ebb away from your system, and the two helped you to your feet. “We should probably just get back and clean up. We’re not…we’re not far are we?”

Shaking his head, Skwisgaar also carefully lifted your damaged arm, tenderly putting some pressure on the elbow before you winced. “Hmm,” he said to himself. “Ja, let’s gets back. We’ll puts ice on yous boths.”

The travel back to the camp area was a mostly quiet one. You and William were shivering beside each other, walking slowly, and Skwisgaar and Toki hung around behind. Sometimes one of the two would make a comment about how slow you two were moving, to which Murderface would respond with a sharp elbow to someone’s gut or a firm middle finger up in the air. 

Pickles and Nathan met you all with half lidded, glassy eyes, smiling stupidly between each other. A bong was sitting between the two of them, multi-chambered, and deep green in colour. They didn’t see anything wrong with the lot of you at first, but then they regarded William’s damp and deflated hair and your soaking clothes.

And of course, the blood. 

Pickles jumped to attention, though Nathan remained firmly planted in his seat. “Whoa, whoa! What happened?” 

He didn’t run up to check on either of you, but instead over to one of the trailers, where he opened up a compartment on the side. There was a place to keep a tank of water or gasoline, a flashlight and a first aid kit. He retrieved the latter, hopping back over to the table so he could pop the snaps open. 

“We got attacked by a tree and fell into the river,” Murderface gripped as he moved to go sit down. Toki helped Pickles root through it to grab some bandages and disinfectant.

Nathan put a digital recorder up to his face and hit a red button. “New song idea: Drowned in a River of Blood.” He pressed the stop neatly. 

“Ja,” Skwisgaar validated Murderface’s story. “It was looking like a big red dragons, and totallys came down and took them out on the bank. It was brutals.” Skwisgaar put his hand out to take some bandages from Toki, hovering at your side, but Toki protectively tucked them up to his chest, giving the Swede a soft glare. “I wants to do’s it!”

“Do’s what? I just wants to hands them to her-“

You sat down as well, and Pickles ended up taking your other side, a small disinfectant square in hand as Skwisgaar reached out to try and snatch the bandages childishly from Toki. Pickles motioned for you to bend your head down so he could get a good look at your forehead, and he began to clean it up for you. Nathan seemed to be doing the same for William. “Hey, that doesn’t look so bad when it’s cleaned up! And look at’cha, not even crying!” 

“Well, I’m not six,” you replied with a soft smile. You were sore, and sorer still by the minute, but you were still reeling from the whole experience. “Should I be crying?”

Pickles shrugged. “I’d prefer if you didn’t. You’re prettier this way,” he winked.

“Oh don’t hit on her after she’s been through a traumatic event, Pickles,” Murderface groaned from his side, and Nathan balled up the wipe and tossed it wordlessly behind him.

“I’m just tryin’ to cheer her up, dude!”

Toki was now being half pinned by Skwisgaar, held in a headlock as he tried to keep the band aids out of Skwisgaar’s reach. “I can probably put it on myself, you know,” you answered to them, trying to stop their petty fighting. 

“Oh ja?” Skwisgaar challenged you, trying both to hold Toki down with his leaner frame, as well as reach for the bandages. “How’s you going to sees your owns forehead huh?”

“Well there’s gotta be a mirror-“

“No,” Nathan answered.

“Right, well…checkmate against me I guess,” you slumped. 

William stood up quickly from the table then, then cursed as he set weight on his sore ankle, before he moved towards the two guitarists. “She’s not the only one who needs them either, you know!” He took the opportunity to snatch them from Toki’s outstretched arm, and both Toki and Skwisgaar disbanded to try and argue against Murderface. 

“C’mere,” Murderface motioned to you, and he moved to the truck, sitting on the tailgate, the metal groaning under his weight. “I’ll do it.” 

You looked at Pickles, who looked more than amused and he shrugged as his response. 

So, you got up to sit with Murderface instead, and the two of you helped each other. You set one across his already disfigured nose, and he put one over your cut, smoothing it down hard with his thumbs. It made you wince, and he called you a pussy. 

You looked back towards the group, who had started to settle down and join Nathan and Pickles around the bong, already moving past all the excitement and danger that had just happened. No one had so much as picked up a phone to call their manager about the problem. 

“Looks like they’ve already forgotten about us,” Murderface said woefully. 

You laughed a little. “I think most of them are still high. Besides, they aren’t the ones who fell in the river. By the way,” you turned to him. “Thanks for you know, saving me back there.” You didn’t want to think of it, but it was easy to recall the moment where you had felt that you were floating on your back, certainly drowning. 

And you had heard music…

“Hey, not all heroes wear capes or something, huh?” He puffed out his chest. “Just doing what I do. And you know, thank you or something too.” He shared a rare smile with you.

You smiled back, and you two shared a moment before you turned back at the others. You were thinking you both should probably join them, and as you went to suggest this to Murderface, you felt his hands land on your shoulders.

Before you realized it, you turned and found he was coming in for a kiss! His chapped lips were puckered and ready, his eyes closed and nose scrunched like a boy playing seven minutes in heaven for the first time. You were shocked, not sure what to do or if you could pull away, watching his mustachioed mouth encroach closer to your own. 

Then two sets of arms almost materialized at the tailgate, coming to your rescue. Mirroring hands grabbed William’s forearms and pried them off of you, Toki and Skwisgaar standing on each side of him.

Toki wrangled Murderface back a little. “You cant’s just kiss a girl withouts askings!” 

“We were getting along! She laughs at my jokes! She said I looked like a broad Tom Selleck! That is a _clear_ invitation.” 

You hadn’t said anything about ‘broad’, but, you’d let him have that. 

While they argued over it, Skiwsgaar put an arm around your shoulders and tucked you into his side, closer than he had the first time he’d done so at the University. “Pfft. Didn’ts you says you didn’ts wants my leftovers?” 

Murderface grew redder in the face, but Toki served as a sturdy shield between him and Skwisgaar. “Maybe she had a piece of your scrawny, girly ass and wanted a _creamier_ crop.”

“Don’t say creamier-“ Pickles said offhandedly, enjoying the show from the side with Nathan.

“-And that crop is William Murderface, baby!” 

You were reminded for the first time in a long time, that you wanted a cigarette. The last time the urge came to you was after Skwisgaar and you spent the night together. It had been days since then, but the stress gnawed at you now as chill set into your bones. Your high had long abandoned you, and you just wanted a smoke to wind down all the shit that had happened. You instinctively patted down your jeans, but remembered that you’d left your things back on the dresser at Mordhaus. Fuck. 

You walked away from the trio then, rejoining Nathan and Pickles. “Can I bum a smoke?” You asked, pathetically, holding out your hand like a beggar, and Pickles gave you a grin that sat somewhere between heavily amused and sympathetically pitiful. He pulled out a squished pack from his back pocket and pulled one out for you. You stuck it between your lips and he helped you light the end. 

Closing your eyes, you inhaled deeply, appreciatively. The nicotine settled through your bloodstream and you let it out your nose and mouth slowly. Your body relaxed, and you slumped against the picnic table, supporting your chin with your hand. “Oh man,” you breathed, relieved. “Thank you. I really needed this.” 

“Yeah well, I’m sorry you almost drowned.” 

“At least there’d be nothing cooler than drowning on a trip with Dethklok. I’d be the new Natalie Wood.”

“Brutal.”

There was a click as Nathan hit the button on his recorder a second time. “New album title idea: Red Dragon Death.” Click.

"Isn't that a uh, Stephan King book?" Pickles asked.

You smiled. "Oh you're thinking of Red Dragon by uh," you snapped your fingers. "By uh, whatshisface." 

Nathan's brow furrowed. "Hop..Hopkins."

"No, no, Harris I think," you remembered and he shrugged. 

"As long as he didn't write Red Dragon _Death_, then I'm fine."

“Help yourself to the bong as well, man. Sharing is caring.” Pickles gestured to the thing in the center of the table, “If you need any more shrooms, we got them too.”

You nodded with thanks, and blowing out the smoke, you held it between your fore and middle finger, leaning forward to the mouth of the bong. Pickles helped you out by lighting the other end, and you took a large hit, eardrums tingling with your remaining fungus-fueled high as the bubbles roiled and popped in the chambers. 

Leaning back, you couldn’t help but cough heavy and hard, the smoke busting between your lips and out your nose like you were some amateur. The ash at the end of your cigarette jostled off as you shook and heaved, and Nathan even leaned across the table to his smack you hard on the back twice to help you out. It didn’t. 

It just hurt, mostly. Fuck, he was a strong handed guy. 

“Hey, hey,” Pickles cooed. “If you didn’t cough it wasn’t real.” You grinned through your watery eyes, and despite your lung’s protests, you hit your smoke again as well as the other three rejoined you all, seemingly over their second childish argument. 

“Is there enoughs to goes around?” Skwisgaar asked as he took your other side, reaching over towards the bong. You acquiesced with a nod. 

“You know, my ankle is probably broke, so, I just wanted you all to know that.” Murderface whined, since the conversation shifted so easily from concern over the pair of you to moving the evening along to party.

Pickles shoved a beer bottle he had on the table towards Murderface. “Drink the pain away, my dude.”

Nathan made a hum of agreement. “Yeah, and stop uh, being such a bitch about it.”

Exhaling a dense white cloud, Skwisgaar coughed his fair share, the noise rattling from deep in his chest as he passed the bong along. You couldn’t help but laughing, seeing him in the same situation you were in, and you gave him light pats on his back, in a downgraded version of Nathan’s helping. 

Skwisgaar started to laugh as well, and he looked to your band aid as the others started in on Murderface’s complaints. “You think I’ll have a scar?” you asked, touching it gently. It would make for a good story.

“Maybe,” he offered rather unhelpfully, supporting his head with his hand on the table, tilting it as he looked at you. He gave you an appraising look, noting your hair, that had begun to dry. Wet baby hairs curled and plastered against your cheeks and the shirt you’d borrowed stuck to your body like a skin-tight, leaden blanket. 

He reached out to touch you with his other hand. It started first on your wet knee, and it travelled upwards steadily towards your hip, pushing up the wet shirt as he did so. 

Startled by the sudden contact, you jolted a bit, and looked around the table, unsure if anybody was noticing. Skwisgaar smirked at the reaction, and he slid a little closer over to you. 

Looking into each other’s eyes, his hand roamed towards the small of your back. His dry, warm hand against your cold, damp skin.

Electrifying. Perhaps not all the adrenaline had left you yet, as the same heart pounding, pupil-dilating thrill reignited in you at the way he was starting to dip his fingers below your waistband.

How was it that his touch was so inspired? What kind of Midas gift did he have that blessed him with both guitars and women? 

Your mouth and Skwisgaar’s then came together quickly, and he hooked an arm around your back to draw you in closer. Within a moment he eased your mouth open further, trapping your tongue in his own so he could suck on it lightly. The feeling was strange, but it made an electric passage of pleasure thread up your spine. 

“Jesus, get a room you two.” Pickles exclaimed, throwing a wadded up napkin at you, which bounced off your arm. 

Skwisgaar pulled back from you a little, his other hand on your hip. He pushed up the bottom hem of the t-shirt, mirroring his other hand so both of his palms could slide down towards your rear. “Goods idea. Maybes we should.” He glanced to look past your shoulder, and you turned to follow his gaze to the large trailer. 

It was a few decades old, at least, but had been well maintained. Not by the boys, of course, but by some out of sight Klokateers, undoubtedly scheduled by Charles to make rounds this way every so often.

Pickles chucked a beer bottle off into the tree line. It collided with the trunk and shattered. “Would you like to?” Skwisgaar asked, leaning down a bit to speak softly to you. 

You blushed, nodding a little. It was more embarrassing when everyone noticed you, over the first time, when Skwisgaar had just tugged you away secretly. You couldn’t help but glance back at the group, and you noticed Toki first, who had been clearly looking at you. As soon as you turned your head he looked away, trying to pretend like he hadn’t been staring, fiddling with the bottle in his hands. 

Something in you felt bad, like you were doing something wrong. Was it because of your dream? 

Skwisgaar turned you away from the group with his arm around you, and lead you back over to the trailer. “Have fun, kids!” Pickles called after. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” And the door of the trailer swung closed behind you.

\-------

Skwisgaar guided you to the private suite of the trailer. It was a small door that quartered the largest room off. It held a double bed, but it was cramped. There was a TV in one corner, drawers and cabinets, and a small window above the headboard.

He closed and locked the door behind you two, giving you both a little privacy. You were still very wet, though no longer dripping, your clothes clinging to you. Your jeans were wholly uncomfortable, and the t-shirt felt like lead hanging off your body. 

“Let’s gets yous out of these.”

You both worked to peel the clothes off, leaving it all in a pile before he directed you over to the bed. He laid you both down, and pulled a blanket over you both. Climbing over top of you, he covered your body, easily wrapping you up in his long arms.

The two of you laid together, not doing anything in particular. Skwisgaar took things slow, enjoying the tactile sensations of the high you both shared. You felt appreciative, considering you were feeling sore.

Skwisgaar sighed. “It’s difficults to explains to him, because he’s gifted.”

“Hmm?” You answered, running your hands over his body. Your fingers gliding along the sinewy muscles in his forearms, then beneath his shirt, where you counted each rib softly with the tips of your fingers. You felt him shudder under the contact. 

“Toki,” he continued, and you blinked with surprise. “I don’t wants to say he can’t make music his own, but he _isn’t_ a writer, and what his sound is, isn’t always _Dethklok_. He might not thinks that’s importants, but it is. Bands cohesion matters, toos, especially with Nathan at the helm, the picky asshole.” He shook his head and ran his hands up and down the sides of your arms, and you enjoyed the sensational friction of his calloused fingers. 

You smiled. He had been holding onto this argument for a little while, then, only to have it fall out now, within private walls. “Oh? So you’re _not_ picky?”

He gave you a frown, though he didn’t really contest it.

“Williams, for instance, he puts in time, and work. At least more than Toki does. Murderface gets his own solos, and he at least tries to understand the writing process. When William changes something in a song, it sounds like Dethklok still. William practices. Sos, I might re-records William and bass might get cut, but in generals, no one worries if he will finish on time. He always does. He always plays whats I writes and he does it fine.” As Skwisgaar spoke, he moved a hand down your back and over your ass, giving it a little squeeze. “Tokis has no work ethic. Ja, I might be a genius at guitars and the playings them like a totals badass? And ja, maybes Pickle and Nathans total creative powerhouses, but Toki can’t ride our coat tails forevers. He should work for a livings, toos. He can’t play Ashlee Simpson forever. At least he can’t do that, and complain that we don’ts gives him enough freedoms.” 

You snorted. “That’s kind of insightful of you, Skwisgaar.”

“Hey,” Skwisgaar smiled, “Ams insightfuls guy.”

What you noticed, was that Skwisgaar seemed to be quietly advocating for Toki. While he had been borderline bullying his junior, he seemed…_proud_ of Toki. He was proud for having been the one to let Toki in. He called Toki a natural; gifted. That was high praise. 

“But maybes, enough about hims,” Skwisgaar’s hands returned upwards, and he took a handful of your chest, running his thumbs in symmetrical circles over your nipples. “I’m sure you aren’t feeling very nice afters fallings into the river.”

You sighed sweetly, running your own palm over his groin, feeling it tenting against his zipper. You could feel your thighs twitching with anticipation, remembering the way he’d filled you from last time, mercilessly reaching into you. “I mean, it wasn’t _awesome_,” you joked, feeling Skwisgaar buck into your hand, and he pulled one of your legs over his own hips. 

“Your elbows is looking kind of fucked up, not going to lies.”

“Thanks,” you laughed, and he hummed, using his hand to then ghost over the injured limb again. 

“We’ll get it looked at laters.” 

“I didn’t even put ice on it…” you mock complained, and you caught him smile with some amusement.

He kissed you then, almost affectionately, though his lips lingered sensually. You responded by leaning into it, and he put his other arm around your upper back so he could bring you closer to him. He didn’t stop your curious hand, so you continued to rub him, eventually moving your fingers to fiddle with the buckle and his fly. 

At the same time, his other hand moved between your own legs, spread open by his hips. He cupped your warmth first, lightly dragging his fingers along your outer lips teasingly, and you made a noise against his mouth, pulling him from his pants. He pressed a middle finger between your lips up against your clit, gently rubbing, exciting your body. Your hips pressed towards his hand, your own fingers forming a circle around him, giving him a poorly angled stroke, your hands trapped between your bodies. You couldn’t help but relish the noises he made, as well as the feeling of having him grow hard in your hands, under your touch.

If you thought to hard about it, you’d probably wonder how you ended up being snaked so easily back into Swkisgaar’s bed, but you’d rather not think too hard about it at all. You’d told Pickles that you didn’t have any regrets, and so far, that remained true. You quite liked the way Skwisgaar’s shapely lips worked kisses against your skin, occasionally sucking light marks into your collar, as his hands toyed you open, the leather of trousers warm and textured against your bare skin. 

You were soon beginning to feel wanting, as Skwisgaar did nothing to speed up his pacing or move things along. No, instead he spent his good time feeling up the inches of your body. His hand rand down your back from where he’d been holding you, to trail down the bend of your spine and over the hill of your hips. He squeezed them, then ran over your stomach and up to your chest, where he began to play with your breasts again, playing with a nipple until it rose into an aroused peak. 

Involuntarily, you put your free hand over his own, trying to coax him to perhaps grab a little more, play a little rougher. You felt his body rumble against you as he chuckled. “Pretty eager for someone who’s been through as much as you have today, hm?” 

You made a miffed noise, and he began to detach himself from you, putting a hand on your wrist to stop your stroking. For a moment, you worried that you might have upset him by trying to get him to do what you wanted him to do, but soon he was adjusting the way you both lay. He tugged on you to lay flat on your back, and his long form moved down the length of you, towards the end of the bed. You watched him with half lidded eyes, the dull throbbing in your arm sitting in a back seat to the delirious, intoxicated pleasure that Skwisgaar was doling out on you. 

You were just as naked and vulnerable as you were the first time, and he, just the same, stood with his cock proudly out, and remained otherwise dressed. Taking the chance to run his hands down the curves of your sides, he ended by resting his palms on the backs of your calves. “Why don’t we make you feel nice?” 

With the statement, he hoisted your legs up, encouraging you to rest each calf on one of his shoulders, and he began to hunch over somewhat, readjusting his hands so they were positioned under your hips, ready to lift your lower half up even further to reach his height. You rolled your lower lip between your teeth in delicious anticipation, wiggling somewhat from side to side, your toes flexing. “Ooh, are you gonna spoil me?” You asked, with a little cheeky smile, and he returned it from above, but didn’t answer. 

Instead he lifted you further up, and he leaned down to meet your groin. You watched him above you as his lips descended downwards, beginning to softly mouth at your mound. You moaned quietly, feeling him suck kisses against your pussy and occasionally trailing away to nibble and kiss at the inner curves of your thighs. You could feel yourself growing wetter, your hole twitching, ready and waiting. His hair fell over you, tickling the skin of your stomach. 

You couldn’t reach him from where you lay, other than for his hands. You set one hand on one of your breasts, playing with it to stimulate yourself while your other raised to meet his against your hip. You ran your fingers delicately along his inner thigh and he made a sound of approval, before his tongue lapped out to slide between your folds. 

“Ahh-!” You shivered at the hot contact, and he did it again, using the tip of his tongue to tease and flicker at your entrance. “Ooh, oh yeah..” You gasped, hips shifting a little, though you didn’t move far.

You could feel him smile against you, and soon he dove his tongue inside. You groaned, straining your legs to open wider without having your legs slip off his shoulders. Warm and wet, he thrusted his tongue in an out while continuing to suck on you. He moved one of his hands from your hips to thumb your clit. You began to thrust upwards against his jaw as he fucked your pussy with his tongue. The pleasure waved over you, and you pinched your own nipple as you moaned, your eyes fluttering open and shut, unsure of which you’d rather do. You loved to watch him, but to focus and feel him was…well, like music to your ears, not to hit it too hard on the nose. 

Skwisgaar released your pussy from its pleasurable entrapment, kissing your clit once, then twice. “You wants me to fuck you, angel?” 

The words were a little shocking, but you found yourself opening your eyes and making a shy sound of want. He looked down at you wolfishly, his blue eyes bright in the darkness of the trailer. “Gluttons for punishment, are you?” He pushed two fingers into you with ease. Already he seemed to be versed in you. What you might be able to take; testing your limits with care and tact. You groaned, taking him in greedily, pushing upwards to force his fingers deeper. “I can’ts say I don’t want too,” he spoke, his tone threaded with humour and sex as he continued to watch you, letting you squirm and struggle for more. “Look at you.” He said, with what you might call fondness. “Gorgeous.”

Maybe it was just the thick lust. 

“Mm, but you knows, I’m really a gentlemans,” he thrust his fingers within you slowly. “I’ll have to holds back this time, for your sake.” It was condescending, but in a way that made your core ache desperately.

This time, always this time, meaning a next time. Your head lulled to the side as he pushed his fingers up into your g spot. “Ohfuck,” you whimpered, and he began to slowly rub the spot. The sensation was intense, and your walls tightened around his fingers, biting your lip now as your thighs began to close. Your hips would spasm and you would gasp, your hands unable to do much but hold onto his wrist, and the sheets below you. 

“Beg me to make you cum,” he stated, and the walls of your cunt tightened around him at the order.

“Please, yes please, Skwisgaar.” You babbled. “I wanna cum, please make me.” He awarded you by lowering his mouth again so he could suck on your clit, his teeth just barely tugging at it. You jolted, crying out. “Fuuck, your hands…your fucking…mouth, god, I want to cum, Skwisgaar..! _Please_,”

His tongue circled and swirled your clit as he pounded his fingers in short, quick thrusts, your wet pussy making sounds that might’ve embarrassed you in another state of mind. “Cum,” he approved, and with his fervent fingering against your g-spot, and his hot tongue against your lips, you came undone. Like he had pulled a pin holding you altogether, you spilled open as though you were made of ribbon, your body exploding with intense and writhing pleasure. You repeated several expletives and nonsensical, desire ridden moans as he road your orgasm out. His fingers moved ceaselessly, though he pulled his mouth back.

You weren’t sure if you could stop cumming as your back buckled upwards and your legs gripped onto him tightly, your ankles hooking over one another behind his back. You could feel your mouth trembling, wave after wave of climax hitting you more like brick wall after brick wall. He pressed his fingers deep within you, pressing his finger pads against you as you tried to reach up to him. You wanted him closer, and away from you all at once. You were quickly becoming oversensitive, but he seemed to enjoy drawing out each motion of your hips and every choked gasp in your throat.

When you nearly grabbed his wrist, he grabbed yours instead, and pulled his other hand from your cunt. Your lower body fell somewhat, though your legs retained what little strength they could to remain propped up against him. Skwisgaar put them down for you, and quickly covered your body with his tall form, wrapping himself around you so that he could bring you in to kiss. 

You felt his cock, still stiff and unattended to, bob up against your stomach as you two made out messily. Your mouths were loose with one another, purposefully lazily and exaggerated as he thrust his tongue between your teeth. The same thing that had just been inside of you. You sucked on his tongue and listened to him moan, and he pressed lower onto you, gently thrusting his length against your abdomen. 

You started to reach down between the two of you, so that you could take care of him, but he grabbed that hand as well, forcing both up over your head. “Let me,” you started to whine your sex-tired complaint, rubbing your thighs together below him. 

“No,” he answered back, then sat up, opening your legs one more time so he could sit between them. He set one of your legs over one of his hips and took his own cock in his hand. He began to thrust into his fist as he looked over you, his eyes settling between your legs. He kept his cock close to your pussy, so close he might have been able to bump the head against you, but he didn’t, instead keeping a tight grip on himself, and the other on your leg. 

Not wanting to lay there and do nothing, you ran your hands down your own, slowly cooling body. You spread your other leg open a little more so he might have a better view, and massaged your own tender, swollen lips. “Mm,” you moaned, and you could hear him beginning to paint, his fingers rolling over his cock head, passing his thumb over the slit. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, and you spread your lips open, rubbing your fingers gently around your fingered-open entrance. “Ah, fuck-!“

He didn’t last long after that, bucking hard into his own hand as he began to cum over you. He covered your pussy and lower stomach, grunting with his exertion. His fingers dug hard into the outer thigh of your leg and your tongue ran over your lip at the sweet, bruising pain. 

He finished by gently slapping his cock head against your clit, rubbing it into the cum he’d left to mark there. 

You smiled up at him, returning your hands upwards. 

“Well,” he finally said, letting out an exhale. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing back his long bangs, sweat percolating at his brow. “Was that nice?”

You laughed and looked coquettishly up at him from against the pillow. “You were the perfect gentleman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading as always, and I hope you enjoyed! Thank you to those who sent me messages on tumblr (@vodkaexplorer)! I went through a break up over fall and winter and it was pretty tough. But I'm back, I hope for a while! I hope you and yours are safe and healthy in these trying times, and, well, happy (newly minted by myself) masturbation month lol!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You come home || Non-NSFW chapter

Charles sat at his desk; his suit neatly pressed from cufflink to tie clip. His hands were laced together on the desktop, his mouth carved into a thin, tight line. He didn’t say anything at first, only shaking his head with the barest acknowledgement of his disappointment. Despite that he was not your dean, you felt like you were about to get expelled.

“Ams sorrys!” Toki immediately jumped forward, as genuine guilt struck him. “I trieds to calls but they tossed my phones out the truck!”

“Not only,” Charles put up his hand in a silencing motion, like a father on a work phone call. “Did you not show up to this meeting with Andrew that I have had to reschedule for the almost literal _millionth_ time,”

Murderface tried to interject. “You know, it was really _Pickles’_ idea in the first place. I didn’t even _want_ to go camping, and I _personally_ felt like he was really twisting my arm-“ 

Charles gave him a look over the top of his glasses that had Murderface fall quiet as well, though Pickles gave Murderface a sharp slap upside the back of his head for being thrown under the bus. 

“But,” Charles continued pointedly, “you also went and got somebody else tied up in your ridiculous shenanigans.” He gestured to you. If you had a secret superpower to turn invisible, now would be a great time to discover it. “You’ve gone and brought the poor girl back half drowned and with an elbow that is half as functional than when she left here with it.” 

You sheepishly shuffled in place. When you had all arrived, you’d been attended to quickly by an on-site doctor. The masked medic had put your arm into a sling to take the pressure off your elbow, and thankfully you hadn’t been in need of any stitches across your hairline. You might have a fracture, they told you, but no break. It had felt good at the time to have your arm suspended, now that the swelling had come to a stop. 

Though, now it just felt like a badge of shame.

Nobody really had anything to say. Everyone, including yourself, was doing their best to avoid Charles’ intense, parental gaze. 

“She’ll need to go home, you understand, if she’s just going to be another excuse and distraction for you all not to show up on time, or finish your work.” Charles spoke definitively, and you felt your heart sink into your stomach. Maybe he couldn’t expel you from school, but expelling you from Mordhaus felt equally as mortifying. 

Skwisgaar spoke up the first objection. “Yous can’ts dos that’s? This nots your house?” 

Toki chimed in, “Ja, and she’s my pals!” 

“And so was Doctor Rockso, I believe, but he can’t come back either, Toki. You know why?”

Toki’s shoulders slumped and he frowned childishly. “Because he makes Tokis irresponsibles.” 

“That’s right, Toki. Now,” He slid a document onto the desk, looking your way. You took it as a cue to step forwards, and you glanced down. It was one of the papers you’d been made to sign earlier. “I recommend you read this copy on your way home, but to summarize, there is a waiver in here that exempts Dethklok from any liability if anybody should incur injury or death while in their company.” 

Nodding dumbly, you picked up the sheet without a word. “Now,” Charles continued. “I’ll have a car prepared out front to take you home, and someone will gather your belongings.” He glanced passed you at a pair of Klokateers that had been silently manning the door. He nodded, and they stepped forwards to approach you at either side. You felt like some shoplifter being taken out by mall security, your face burning red. This somehow felt like your fault. You were being taken away from them like sugar from hyperactive children. 

You were quietly escorted away, and when Toki went to reach out and grab you, in some form of protest, Nathan reached out and took his wrist. Toki looked towards Nathan, who just shook his head.

“And since I have the rest of you here in one place for once, I’ll call up Andrew and we can have this meeting. Alright, boys?” You heard Charles clap his hands together, and the door closed behind you.

It would be all the goodbye you would get.

\------

“And that, class, is the end of our unit on international trade and finance.”

You snapped suddenly out of your memory induced daydream, looking to and fro. The professor had turned the lights back on, the lecture at its end. You rubbed your eyes with the ball of your palm. 

Right. You were in your economics class; something you’d joined for the filler credits, and it wasn’t the first time you’d let your head drift up to the clouds while the professor droned on about the financial sector.

Though, it _was_ the first time you’d thought about something more unpleasant than economics itself.

Being hauled out of Charles’ office was a memory that made your stomach churn, and you could feel your cheeks burn remembering the way it felt to have the eyes of the band hot on your back as you were taken out.

But now you were back…here. At school, in the normal world. Charles had been prompt with his arrangements for you, and you’d been delivered home before two in the morning. You hadn’t slept well, trying to catch a few hours before your morning block. You tossed and turned most of the night as your brain threw you conflicting dreams of a flooded Mordhaus, as deep and forgotten as Atlantis, the vision of two wolves leading you through caves and woodlands; then once more in the river with Murderface, fighting singing nymphs who attempted to drag and drown you under the water.

You shook your head, shuddering.

It had been an uncomfortable confrontation with Charles, to say the least, and as you closed your binder – your page devoid of any notes – you tried to push the conversation out of mind.

“So, what happened over the weekend? You said you were going to that show on Friday?” 

You blinked. 

“Hm?” Turning your head, you realized it was your classmate asking you. They were someone who you weren’t really friends with, but you liked to chat to before and after lecture. “Oh, uh…” you looked to your new sling in question, your injured arm tucked to your torso. You’d read the papers Charles had given you – no matter how boring and full of legal jargon they were – and it didn’t seem like it forbade you from talking about your time with the guys, as long as you didn’t leak any company or personal information. 

Still, you didn’t want to mess with the wrong people. “Yeah.” Maybe the least amount of information you gave out about what happened during the weekend, the better. Who would believe you, anyway? In the end, you hadn’t even had the opportunity to get them to sign anything, and you went home virtually empty handed.

Though, the t-shirt Toki had given you now lay reverently folded on your dresser. It was a good trophy, and a better memory, but not much proof.

They grinned. “Must’ve been quite the show! Did you get shoved around a mosh pit or something? Is it broken?”

“It’s not broken,” you tried talking your way around the story as you slipped your binder into your bag, slinging it around your shoulders. “Luckily. Could’ve been worse. The band actually was pretty shit, but I still had a good night.” You lifted your slung arm for emphasis. “I have a good story out of it I guess.” A really good story.

They nodded communally, and you two had your parting ways as you headed into the hallway.

You had a spare block coming up, so you decided you’d grab some coffee and hit the library. Maybe you’d catch a second wind, and get some studying done before your packed afternoon courses.

While you might have liked to spend the rest of your day moping about your abrupt end with the band, or scheming ways that you might be able to sneak into Mordhaus, you had some real-life issues to tackle. 

Like homework. 

That essay you still haven’t started. 

Or that discussion post you had to submit on the class forum website.

In fact, you were on pace to graduate at the end of the spring semester, which was a short couple months away. As long as you stayed on track, you’d scrape by without a problem, and get to call yourself a genuine ‘graduate’. Bona Fide Educated. 

After that, you weren’t sure what was going to come next. Apply for jobs, you figured. Maybe Graduate school – though most of your own professors had warned you during your first year that it wouldn’t be worth it. Especially in your field of study. 

You held a major in software engineering and a minor in music, taking a focus in audio software design. Maybe you could apply for a job with a headphones company to redevelop sound quality, or work in radio.

Maybe you would just take a break. 

But you had to graduate, first. And that meant some coffee and hitting the library.

You passed through the quad to one of the many coffee stations stashed around campus, slipping into line. 

“Hey!”

Looking up, you saw a trio of your usual friends entering the dining area. You looked to them and smiled, waving your good hand. You hadn’t seen them since the concert, and they approached you. 

“What happened to you?! You didn’t answer your phone all weekend, man!” One of your friends clapped you on the back as they gathered around, eyeing your curious injuries. “Oh wow, what happened? You get mugged in the parking lot or somethin’? Yooo, look at your forehead brooo.” They all leaned in to ogle your condition, asking you if you’d been to the hospital, had you gotten into a car accident, or something?

You shook your head. “Nothing like that – I just went drinking with some friends in the woods yesterday. Usual shit. Couldn’t answer my phone out there.” You hoped that the half truths would be enough to satiate their questioning looks, and it mostly seemed to. 

“Where did you go after the concert though? You straight up disappeared. We thought we should put a missing person report on you.”

“Yeah, but you clearly _didn’t_, so what’s all that worrying gone and done you?”

They sneered back at you jestingly, and you smirked. “Honestly, it was just late. I _was_ waiting for you guys, but _someone_," you glanced at the friend in question, "had to try and fuck the drummer, so I got tired and left.” Another half truth. 

“Yeah, and you took your weed with you.” Another friend complained. 

“Well,” Said your drummer-fucking-friend as she leaned forwards, elbows on the table as she glided over your remark. “Did you hear that _apparently_,” she lowered her voice, “_Toki Wartooth_ from Dethklok was seen at the show? Straight up. Heard it from Maxine Filliger.” 

The third of your friends rolled his eyes. “Oh, well if _Maxine_ said so…”

They might drop dead if you told them the truth, and you had to smile. “Really?” 

Your third friend this time shook his head. “No way, no way – it’s a stupid rumour. Some guy with long hair must’ve been walking around and people got excited over nothing.” 

“He had a manchu ‘stache!” 

“Oh, _fuck_, well if he had a fuckin’ _manchu ‘stache_’ it _must’ve_ been Toki." He said sarcastically. "You got a photo?” 

“Maxine does, she posted it on facebook-!“ 

Your friends continued back and forth as the line moved along. Your turn came up quick, and you asked for your coffee the way you liked it, picking out a small snack from the glass display to the side of the register. You decided not to pitch in to their bickering. Let them hash it out. 

You wondered if they had been there with you that night, if Toki and Skwisgaar would have invited you. 

After that concert, your friend had drunkenly exclaimed that ‘It’s fate!’ that she meet the drummer. Maybe it was.

“What do _you_ think?” As your order was being served to you, your friend shoved her phone towards you to show you the facebook picture. “I heard he might’ve even left with a groupie.” 

At this point, you could recognize the back of Toki’s head anywhere, but honestly the quality of the photo was garbage. It had been taken with a cellphone after all, and even though it was a razer, you had to squint to make anything out. If you hadn’t been with him yourself that night, you probably would have called bullshit on it yourself. “Yeah, that’s not him.” You lied, picking up your coffee from the counter. “And honestly, not to brush anyone off here but I was literally drunk all weekend and I’ve got to catch up on some course work.” 

Your friends laughed, but agreed. “Yeah, I’ve got to get going too. I’ve got work in like…uhh…yeah, twenty minutes. I gotta fly.” Everyone waved their farewells and left. 

As you parted, you felt your shoulders relax. You hadn’t realized they’d even been tense. You didn’t like lying to your friends, but you also didn’t like that threatening comment Charles’ had made about Rockso the Rock and Roll Clown. If you started flapping your lid, you weren’t sure you’d be able to tell when you’d crossed the line or not. The privacy agreement was…thorough, after all. 

The library was one of your favourite places on campus. Possibly because it was a great space to lounge, as well as study. Though, most kids you knew took advantage of the library as a nap spot. There were many comfortable seats and private cubicles where someone could put their head down and sleep. At this time of day, there was a seat on one of the upper floors that was your preferred place to sit. You bee-lined there, and unsurprisingly, it was empty as usual. 

Strapping your book bag over the back of your chair, you sat down, pulling out your notes and textbook for the class you knew you’d have to tackle the hardest. Time to hit the ol’ flashcards. 

As you rifled through them, making sure they all were facing the right direction, you wondered how Dethklok might have been in school. You couldn’t really picture any of them attending normal classes. Each of them radiated irresponsibility. Pickles, maybe, you could see – but maybe only as the weed guy. The guy who brought the keg. The guy who occupied a whole bathroom to himself at the end of a house party to empty his lunch.

Nathan? Murderface? They didn’t really read _academic,_ to you. Skwisgaar? Nah. You couldn’t see it. You saw him as the guy who hung around bars close to campus so he could pick up co-eds, not the guy memorizing latin verb charts. 

Toki?

You paused in your card shuffling for a second, glancing up at the foam ceiling tiles. You didn’t know if he was cut out for it or not, but you could see that he’d be a cute student. You imagined the way he might look, hunched over his books, brows close together as he carefully went over his work. 

Due to your own major, you knew plenty of other students who were taking some kind of music related degree, so he could be one of them. There were plenty of musicians – that was for sure. The classical piano genre was sure about to have an influx of talent from your tiny state. But, to picture Toki behind one of the soundproof doors in the music wing, intently playing his guitar under the yellowed light…

However, if the band was right about Toki’s bad practice habits, you didn’t think he’d make the grade, so to speak. Too bad. You’d like to see him sprawled out over the campus grass, having a smoke while reviewing unit terms. 

Maybe there was a universe where a student Toki was asking you to a campus party. You smiled, and looked down at the cards in your hands. The words were clear at first, but soon they began to blur as tears welled up on your lower lid. 

You’d been kicked out.

Whatever that meant. You were deemed ‘too distracting’, or whatever it had been that Charles had said. You watched dark circles blot the white cards as quiet tears fell, feathering the ink of your words. You would never see them again. Not Toki, nor any of them. You’d been gifted a short time with them – and more time than any fan could have ever expected or asked for – but you still felt it was cut short. The time you’d spent with them felt so natural, like you belonged there. They treated you like one of their own; you felt like you could really know them.

You didn’t understand what you had done wrong, since you’d been the one dragged from place to place. You’d just gone along with whatever they were doing – and maybe that had been the issue.

The trip _back_ to Mordhaus from the campground had been an alright one, at least. 

Skwisgaar and you had rejoined the party after your escapade alone. Everyone packed up to leave once the sun began to set, Nathan and Pickles mumbling something between themselves about Charles’ wrath, but at that time you had chosen to ignore it. 

Climbing into the Dethshuttle when it arrived at the pick-up zone, the lot of you shared more drinks and laughs on the ride. Skwisgaar hadn’t been as cold, and you found yourself with each guitarist on either side of you nearly the whole way back. 

Toki had been especially possessive of your attention, you’d noticed, hooking his arm around yours as you sat together, holding your hand, and in general making sure that _his_ hands were on you, rather than perhaps Skiwsgaar’s. Instead of taking any obvious offense to this, Skiwsgaar occupied himself with his guitar, tapping his foot to the time as his fingers ghosted over each steel string. 

“Ams so sorrys you were hurt,” Toki had said, pushing your hair back from your hairline somewhat so he could look at the damage done in the light of the bus. He frowned, his eyes meeting yours. “Next times I will takes better care of you.” You felt a flutter in your heart.

Skwisgaar had rolled his eyes in response, a sly grin across his lips. “She’s already been well and taken cared ofs, trust mes.”

You could only blush in response and Toki glared over at Skwisgaar, his fingers tightening ever so slightly against yours in his clear irritation. “_Playing_ doctors doesn’t makes you one, Skwisgaar!” You sunk a little into the couch, somewhat embarrassed, and Murderface got up, crossing the floor to grab some cheap beer out of a fridge. He came by to hand a can out each to the three of you, and you each took it.

“Come on, let’s stop waving our dicks in front of the chick, let’s have a drink!”

As if you hadn’t had enough drinks to last you a lifetime. Almost in unison, the three of you popped the tab, the aluminum cracked as golden fizz rose to the open surface. You brought it to your lips and took a few heavy, generous glugs. Your liver would have its work cut out for it. You weren’t sure you’d been sober since you’d gone to breakfast that morning. Your vision had been spinning since you’d gotten out of the river.

Toki shrugged. “Ams sayings that’s she didn’t get hurt when _I_ tooks her out!” You couldn’t help but notice that there was a lilt of pride in his voice, like he was trying to brag.

“Where did you two go, anyways?” Pickles asked.

You weren’t sure if you should be the one to answer, and you glanced at Toki, who seemed to be working that out himself. 

“Did you two…_do it_?” Pickles tried again, grinning this time, brows waggling suggestively. 

Skwisgaar decided to answer that, shaking his head. “Nah, theys didn’t do anythings. I asked this mornings.” He nudged Toki. “What weres you doings with a girl if you didn’t plans to do anythings at all?”

As usual, Skiwsgaar knew exactly what buttons to push, and Toki turned to the blonde, his nose stuck up defensively. “Dancing.” Toki was drunk enough himself that he was swaying while sitting perfectly upright.

Murderface made a sound between a scoff and a laughing howl. “Dancing? What the fuck?”

“Ja, dancings, whats of it, huh?” Toki crossed his arms over his chest, growing more agitated at the prodding. 

“Oh hey, did you go back to that place that has that bowling alley down the road?” Pickles asked, and Toki nodded with a sulk. “Didn’t we crash that place one time? That joint is one brutal buzzkill, man, Alzheimer’s and teen pregnancy as far as the eye can see.” You could help but laugh at the comment, covering your mouth. He caught your eye and smiled back, before pointing at you. “Dude, you took her out to a place she’s been probably every homecoming, prom, block party, Halloween party, Christmas play, _Easter_ play, shot gun wedding, Oktoberfest,” he continued on his fingers, losing the plot a little. “Funeral, drug deal, spring bash…of her whole life?” 

You shook your head. “Hey, that’s generalizing a little, some of these things happen at a church sometimes,” 

“Maybes not the Oktoberfests,” Skwisgaar added, slurring his words a little as he shook his already empty beer can. 

“Just the drug deals and teen pregnancy,” Pickles ended, and you all laughed, though you thought Toki had fallen a little quiet in the conversation. 

Looking over at him, you put your free hand over his and he looked over at you. “It wasn’t nice?” he asked, a little woeful. 

You smiled back at him. “It was great! He’s just joking around, you know that. I had a great time with you.” It seemed to lift Toki’s spirits a little, and he smiled a little. 

Skwisgaar lifted his guitar over his head, and set it next to the seat carefully, before standing up. “If yous likes to dance, why don’ts we do some?” 

“You don’t think you’ve done plenty of dancing with her already?” Pickles laughed, earning a few gruff chuckles from Nathan. 

“Yeah,” Nathan smirked back at Skwisgaar’s smug mug. “Cause like…sex is like dancing. Heh.” 

Looking up at Skwisgaar for a second, you weren’t sure if you should get up and go with him, or stay with Toki. Before you could decide that for yourself, Skwisgaar seemed to read your hesitation, and reached out to make the choice for you. He folded his large hand around your wrist and tugged coaxingly. Not enough to draw you up and off the couch, but enough to give you reason to go. 

“We…don’t have any music,” you noted as you got up, your other hand slipping away from Toki’s. 

Murderface cockily puffed out his chest. “I can fix that,” he retrieved his bass and plugged it in to a ready amp. “This is for you, Ron Jeremy,” he mumbled, mostly to himself, before beginning to play a low, smoky solo. Not something as jazzy as a porn soundtrack but just as smooth. Skwisgaar started to lead you slowly. It wasn’t the more structured dancing you and Toki had shared at the Rec center, instead loose and more intuitive. 

Skiwsgaar didn’t seem to be taking the dancing too seriously, though he was certainly flirting with you, his hands drifting to your hips or working his front along your back end. You laughed when he’d get too close, teasing him instead by stepping away when he would try and breach the distance between you two. You heard someone light up a cigarette and another beer open as he laughed, grabbing you by your belt loops so he could draw you near again.

When Murderface would play quickly, you two moved along, and when he slowed, so did you. Eventually Murderface gave up all together, either too drunk or too tired of watching you two, so that he could rejoin Toki. The two of them sat back languidly and began to chat, while you and Skwisgaar started to goof around more than dance. 

Skwisgaar would lead you in parody waltzes and spin you around. As you began to slow, he gripped you around the waist to steady you, but you felt like you were still spinning even as you both came to a stop. A wave of dizzy nausea passed over you.

Oh boy. All that liquor, and now all that moving seemed to rattle your guts around.

Your stomach again lurched unpleasantly as the Dethshuttle rocked along the road, finding yourself pitching forward a little, holding your head in your hands. “You okay?” Pickles asked, and you nodded, Skwisgaar holding you steady. 

“I’m just going to use the bathroom for a second, I’ll be right back.” You excused yourself, and Skwisgaar nodded, his arm slipping down off you. His hand paused on your upper back tenderly, before you left.

The bathroom wasn’t exactly private, but it was slightly tucked away from the main entertaining area of the shuttle. You slipped into the small stall and parked your ass on the toilet. The light was dim, and the room twisted and turned around you. You couldn’t tell if it was the bus, or how much you had imbibed in that whole day. Hell, that whole weekend. 

Right now, you felt like you were swimming in your own brain fog. You gripped the sides of the toilet, as if that would hold you down in place. You thought for a moment that if you let go, you might tumble up into the ceiling. 

You closed your eyes, but it didn’t stop the feeling of spinning, spinning, like churning in the river. Your stomach quaked and you groaned, opening your eyes again. Maybe if you stared at the toilet roll long enough you could convince your brain you were standing still. You hadn’t thrown up this whole trip, and you damn well didn’t plan to now.

Boy. It had been a long time since you’d been this plastered. 

But your plan was slowly working. You stared at a spot on the wall until you felt brave enough to stand up again. You used the sink to pull yourself up, and splashed water on your face to help sober up. Maybe you felt more sick from the stress of what had happened that day, than the drink. 

Maybe both. 

Feeling okay enough to return to the party, you slid open the narrow door. 

There was someone In the small hallway space, leaning up against the wall. 

“Toki!” You said, surprised to see him. He looked up, blinking with a little surprise himself.

“Hey,” he smiled. Whatever tension or disappointment he’d been feeling earlier no longer present, and he leaned his head back against the wall. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I just needed to sit down for a second. Have some quiet.” 

Toki nodded back, reflecting as he looked at you.

The path was too narrow for you to slip by unless he moved to the side a little, so you looked back at him, finding that you were mimicking his smile. “What?” you asked. 

“Huh?” He said.

“What are you looking at me for?”

Toki’s smile grew and he shook his head, laughing. “Sorry, Ams thinking about how much I likes you.”

You swallowed, breathing in shallowly. “You like me?” 

He made a step towards you. “Of course I likes you.” His voice was soft, the distance between you two no more than a half a foot. He reached up and toyed with a strand of your hair at your temple. “You’re friendly. Fun.”

“That’s nice of you to say,” you answered, equally as softly, listening to your heartbeat in your ears. 

“You’re the first persons I’ve met who listens to me. About anythings.”

You swallowed again, “I think you’d be surprised at what Skwisgaar listens to…” you started, and Toki started to shake his head again, lips pursing. 

“Let’s not talk about Skwisgaar…” his eyes wandered down to your lips, his hand moving from playing with your hair, to moving behind your head. His hand held you at the nape of your neck delicately. “You’re very pretty.”

You felt your head tilting upwards, your shoulder pressed into the wall as Toki lowered his lips down onto yours. 

While Toki acted naïve enough, his kiss was surprisingly confident. A little clumsy – whether due to his skill or the alcohol, who knew – but strong. Toki held you, his other hand keeping you close to the wall, almost cornering you as you began to make out. The thought of Skwisgaar turning the corner and finding you two alarmed you, but as Toki’s mouth moved lazily against your own, you started to sink into the pleasant feeling. 

Toki would extract himself only long enough to kiss around your mouth, or to gentle your lower lip between his teeth. You felt like you were being kissed by a man who’d been gone a long time from his wife, his kisses long and passionate. Or maybe your stupor made it seem that way. 

It felt like it was just the two of you in that dark pocket of intimacy. Alone, and happy to be. Your arms snaked around his back, completely unaware of your sore elbow as you sank backwards. He took the advantage to press you fully up against the wall, his hips pinning yours. He took your roaming hands and laced your fingers together, before he pinned those, too, against the wall at each side of your head.  
During this, your mouths never left each other. He would whisper your name between kisses, and you whimpered, starting to feel needy, and much too warm. 

Toki groaned in response to the sound, and he bucked his pelvis up against yours, once, before he started to turn his kisses away, to your jaw, and cheek. “Oh, what I _could do…_” Toki whispered in your ear, before exhaling. He sounded frustrated, and he began to detangle himself from you. Your hands chased his, a little confused, and he smiled. 

It wasn’t his usual smile, instead looking back a little wolfish. The look felt sparked a pleasure in your groin. 

You felt like you might be being…teased.

\----- 

A student shuffling their texts into their bag made you snap up. You’d been day-dreaming longer than you’d thought, again. Checking the wall clock, you were shocked to see your next course was about to being, and jumped up from your own seat. You shoved your flashcards and other belongings into your pack, threw it over your shoulders, and took off towards the staircase. 

The day was a whirlwind from there, with no time to let your mind wander back. Classes in the afternoon were closely packed together, more difficult, and the professors less lenient. You arrived late to the first one, and it seemed to domino from there, managing to skirt in ten minutes after the class started each time. 

But no matter how busy the day, or your thoughts about the weekend, it all eventually came to a close. Your last lecture finished up on the cue of your own yawn, and you were released back onto the evening campus. 

The trip home was never too long; you’d picked an apartment complex that was close enough to walk. It was a good twenty minutes by foot, and in the glow of the evening light, you thought you might take your time and enjoy the sights on the way back. 

You were in a thinking mood, and the scenic route allowed you to clear some of the stress of the day. You were readjusting to normal life, and you were sure that soon enough you wouldn’t be able to recall the ornate details of the Mordhaus archways.

Arriving to your apartment, the weight of the day felt heavy on your shoulders. You’d heard a quote once that a man who walked a hundred miles would carry the last ninety-nine with him, and that felt true enough as you slipped your key into the slot. All you wanted to do now was peel off your shoes and slip into bed. The poor night of sleep you had weighed on you, alongside your stresses. Your door seemed to sympathize, it’s hinges sighing with exhausted relief as you pushed it open.

Tossing your bag somewhere to the side of the room, you reached out to flip on the light switch.

The room flooded with dim light, and a figure was unveiled, standing in the center of your living area. 

An ice-cold chill gripped your gut as you stared at the stature of a suited man who certainly didn’t belong there, your legs twitching to bolt down the hall for your survival.

The man turned to look at you, his face calm, and he reached up to fix his glasses. “Hello,” he greeted.

You were shocked to see that it was Charles. He was unaccompanied, and you looked around to see if there were any Klokateers stashed in the corners, or behind the door. Was the band here? It all felt a little suspicious, and you weren’t sure if he was going to try and throw some lawsuit at you, or have you black bagged. He was holding an unmarked, opened manila folder at the spine. 

He greeted you with your name, and a nod. “It seems as though you made it home alright.”

“I did, uh…thanks Mr. Offdensen...” you started, attempting to be polite.

“Charles,” he corrected smoothly, starting to use his other hand to shuffle through a few papers. “Firstly, I wanted to iron out any unpleasantness between us that might’ve occurred last evening.” He chose a slip of paper carefully, pulling it from the folder before closing it neatly between his fingers. He tucked it below his arm. “I apologize. My intention was to punish the boys, not you. I hope your injury is fairing you alright.”

You nodded. You still weren’t sure what to think, or why he was here by himself. “Yeah, it’s a little sore but as long as I don’t bang it against anything I think I’ll survive.” 

Charles nodded a little. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m sure the boys will be happy to know you’re doing well.”

The thought of that made you happy, but you took it with a grain of salt. How would you ever know what he told them? It felt like an empty sentiment. “I…I don’t mean to be impolite, Mr. Offdensen, but is it alright if I ask you why you’ve broken into my place?” He probably wasn’t just there to apologize, or to check up on how you were doing. If he was the unseen force behind Dethklok, he had to be busy, and you doubted personal visits to people like you could probably be best overseen by someone else on the Dethklok team.

“Right,” he hummed to himself, breaching the distance between you both with deliberate steps. He held out the paper that he’d pulled out from the folder. You were about sick of seeing him hand you different sheets of legal nooses, but you took it none the less.

Across the top it read _Contract of Employment_. You snapped upwards to stare at him, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“How would you like a job working for Dethklok?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did it take so long for this chapter to come out, you ask? 
> 
> Animal Crossing


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You start your first day

You were shaking. 

“I had our team look into you. It’s my understanding that you’ll be graduating soon. This would be a remarkable opportunity, you know.” Charles continued, as you hadn’t been able to speak. 

As if you needed the sales pitch. You were well aware of what kind of opportunity this would be. “I – of course! Yes! I would love to, I just…” You looked back down to the paper, stammering. The words on the page blurred together, so excited you could hardly read. Your ears kept ringing with what Charles was telling you. “I’m confused. I can’t be the most qualified for whatever you’re looking for, surely…actually, what _are_ you looking for? What’s the job?” 

Charles gestured towards your little living room. Your shaky knees carried you over to drop onto the couch, while Charles took his place in a chair diagonal to you. “And how did you get into my apartment…” When you thought about it now, you didn’t remember unlocking the door at all. You must’ve been too tired to have noticed it was already open. How long had he been eerily standing in the dark like that, anyways? Maybe it was one of those things that wasn’t best to dwell on.

“I told your landlady I had an interview with you,” he answered emphatically, and you felt you wouldn’t have room to ask further questions. “Our Audio Technician, Andrew, will be going on paternity leave any day here, now, and I’ve found myself pressed to find a replacement.”

Audio tech? For Dethklok? 

If you passed out now, that’d be fine. They could wake you up in the studio.

He continued. “And I’d agree. I also wouldn’t call you the most qualified that I have available,” Ouch. “Though, I’ll give you some free advice and say that you should probably be talking yourself up, not down, during the interview.” You nodded compliantly. “But to be honesty with you, it comes down to overcoming…Nathan.” 

You blinked a few times, confused as you were curious. “Nathan?”

“Mm,” Crossing his legs, Charles took the manila folder back out from under his arm and opened it up. “He’s particular with who he works with on sound…” The thought ended there as his eyes glided over what was on the page in front of him. “Your grades are alright…and your professors generally spoke highly of you.” 

‘Generally’. Damn Economics. 

“Your credentials aren’t terrible, though obviously you don’t have a lot of experience in the professional field…You’ve been working at your campus radio?” 

You nodded. “Yeah. I started doing maintenance, mostly. Testing equipment and learning to repair it.” 

“Yes, I see you’ve used working credits from that towards your sound design course.” 

You nodded again, and he flipped a page. 

He was quiet for a moment, before he looked over at you, clearly judging your reactions to what was being said. You were leaning forwards with trembling hands, wringing them nervously. “You also had some work with podcasting?” Charles went on. “That’s a surprise…it’s considered a pretty new medium for radio yet. I wouldn’t say many labels are working with podcasts to promote music.”

“Yeah, I’d say that’s fair. It’s uh, the local news station’s podcast. They want to be like NBC Nightly.” You were the one to set the podcast up, and you still felt like you deserved a pat on the back for that. “It functionally works pretty much the same as their radio broadcasts. Just, y’know. Not live.” You shifted. For a cushion you had sat in well over a hundred times, it felt mighty uncomfortable then. “Why do you think Nathan will be willing to work with _me_ over a professional?” 

Whoops – that probably wasn’t the ‘talking up’ Charles had just told you to try out. You inhaled deeply and tried to sit a little straighter. You could totally be a professional! Right? “I mean, someone with less experience,” you corrected yourself. 

Thoughtfully, Charles gave a sincere half-shrug. “You already have one foot in the door, and you’re a fan,” 

“But I heard Nathan has a problem with fans hanging around,” you interrupted, remembering what Pickles had said to you when you’d first run into him. It felt like ages since Saturday. Murderface had also said Nathan had voted to keep you out of the camping trip. 

“I mean it in the sense that you’re familiar with Dethklok’s work.” Charles answered coolly. “You seem to know what you’re doing on a technical standpoint, based on the references and testimony I was able to procure. There is a local band that you did sound developing for, Shark and Ship?” You were shocked to hear that name. Charles had been very thorough. “They had a lot of positive things to say about you.” 

You’d only been out of Mordhaus for less than twenty-four hours. Had he been doing this over the weekend? Since you’d arrived? “I heard the album myself. You were very precise with your choices. I was impressed with the quality of the lead’s voice over the percussion.” 

You smiled. “Thank you.” 

Charles nodded, and closed the folder carefully. For a moment, he watched you with an evaluating eye, quiet and steadily keeping his eyes on yours. Judging. Coming to his conclusions; and you felt, reading your very character. Your breath felt caught in your chest, almost too anxious to breathe before he pulled a pen out of his breast pocket and stood. “I think you’ll be a good fit.” 

“Oh?” You perked a little, feeling that the interview was now at its end. “No _‘where do you see yourself in five years’_ or _‘name a moment you went above and beyond in your workplace?’"_ You joked as you took the pen from him.

He only smiled thinly, and you felt the familiar sense of unease. “You’ll have to sign and print your name at the bottom.” You swallowed and looked down.

It could have been a deal with the devil himself, and you still would have signed with the same fervor. Flattening the paper down on the coffee table before you, with excited and shaking hands you scrawled your signature and name, dated it proudly, and shoved it back to Charles. He nodded politely, and tucked it into his folder. Soul sold, and gratefully so. 

“Thank you. Welcome to the team, we’re glad to have you aboard.” He stuck his hand back out to you again, stiffly, and you took it. He shook it firmly, a proper businessman through and through. “I’ll make sure you get your welcome package soon. We’ll get you in on the next employee orientation as soon I can clear some time for it. Now, if you wouldn’t mind coming back with me, then, to Mordhaus. There’s a lot of work to be done.”

“Right now?” You had a paper – flashcards – school?

Charles headed towards the door, opening it for you. “Of course.”

\---

You were filled in on the details in the car back to Mordhaus. 

Charles told you that he’d worked something out nicely with your academic advisors, and you’d be trading work hours for school credits. Something you’d done before with radio, but now you’d be working on the level of an apprenticeship. 

The ‘work to be done’, you found out, was a sponsorship deal Dethklok had signed on with Petty Rocker’s baked goods company. The band was behind schedule, “which they often are,” Charles’ added. A song had been recorded – about four times – and now they were at the wire.

A video shoot had been planned for the coming week for the new Petty Rocker commercial. Dethklok would be performing to introduce the brand’s new boxed cake mix: Bloodred Velvet.

You snorted. “Quite a name.”

Charles shrugged. “It’s marketing.”

Their fourth version of the song was nearly done – they hoped – but Charles said intelligence (intelligence?) worked out that Pickles and Skwisgaar had been talking among themselves lately, worried that Nathan might be itching for a fifth take, since he’d spent an unusual amount of time editing what they had.

That was where you were going to come in, and hopefully guide Nathan towards finishing with your own technical expertise. “Andrew has been successful by mostly sitting there, turning knobs while Nathan barks ‘yes’ or ‘no’ at him, but I hope to see a change. It would be ideal to steer him into a habit of progress for the future, but for now, I just want the song done.” You felt a little nervous at the request. It was starting to feel like this might be a tall order.

Charles packed you with about as many details as your brain could handle, and you were sure anything you’d learned in lecture that day was being knocked right out with every new line he fed you. He went over most of the employee basics as well, including work conduct and your starting pay. You felt your jaw drop a little as he suggested a number. Student debt, begone!

When you two arrived at Mordhaus, he gave you his farewells, and let you know that an escort team would lead you to the studio. Looked like you were already on the clock. Before the two of you parted for good, he shook your hand firmly, and put his free hand on your upper arm in a fatherly fashion. “You’ll do great. Go get ‘em.” While a little robotic, the gesture felt authentic and kind, and you relaxed somewhat.

From there you were taken down the winding halls, and already you felt your heart beat with nostalgia to see them. 

Soon, you were again in front of the boldly labeled Studio One. Inhaling deeply, you were reminded fondly of your first time down here with Pickles. The Klokateers opened the doors, and you stepped through. 

Conversation greeted you first. 

“We need more girls around here,” Pickles sighed. 

“What about the uh, chick-a-teers?” Nathan suggested, and as you encroached further into the studio, you saw that he was staring intently at a display before him, his large index finger tapping the desk uncertainly. 

Pickles, who was sprawled back across the sofa, shrugged at the sentiment. “Yeah but I mean, I guess I’d prefer some girls without bags over their head.”

“What does it matter? Any hole’s a goal,” Murderface added, sitting beside Pickles. “Right, Skwisgaar?” 

Skwisgaar sat in a separate stool, his guitar in hand, a familiar extension of himself. He was twisting the pegs on the headstock, tuning each string with a deal of care before moving on to the next one. “Sure,” he offered noncommittally.

“Hey.” You greeted awkwardly, not entirely sure where to jump in on the conversation, but not wanting to continue to stand at the side like a lurker. 

“Hey!” Pickles sprang up from his place on the sofa to approach you. He took you into a generous hug that you reciprocated, smiling. “It’s great t’see you back! Charles told us you’d be joining us.”

The rest of the group gave you a word of hello or a half wave, Murderface making a point of sitting a little straighter. “See Pickles? Ask and ye shall receive! A chick!” 

The only person you didn’t see, was Toki. “Yeah, he offered me your open audio tech job,” you explained.

At that, Nathan made a grunt. “ ‘Open’...temporarily.” 

You just nodded. “Uh, yeah, sorry. That’s what I meant. I don’t want to like, replace Andrew or anything.” Though, if this did become a permanent spot you would absolutely _love_ to replace Andrew. “Where is the project at anyhow? You guys are all sitting here so I assume that’s a good sign.” 

Pickles pursed his lips a little and shook his head while glancing at Nathan. “Well,” he started, but Nathan grunted again. 

“It’s garbage.” He said plainly, and Pickles snapped to him. 

“Oh fuck you dude, it sounds perfectly fine.”

“Listen,” Nathan hushed him, turning a knob on the panel to up the audio on Pickles’ percussion track. You could hear it as well. It wasn’t obvious at first, perhaps to the untrained ear, but there was a strange muffle over the whole track, as if someone had put the microphone into a sock. 

“Dude, I don’t care, you are not making me re-record this shit a fifth time for a cake commercial.”

“How close was he to the mic?” You asked.

Scratching his chin, Nathan leaned back. “Mm, same place as usual. We have it a little closer than what you might see around percussion, but we’re able to draw out some of the low tones. Usually it doesn’t sound like he’s playing through a wall, though.”

You approached the panel, glancing over at the display Nathan was looking at. The software looked familiar enough to you. “Have you tried compressing it?” 

“Mm?” 

You moved a little closer. “May I?” You asked, and Nathan gestured for you to go ahead, though there was a clear expression of apprehension across his scowling mug. 

You leaned in, setting your hands on the tools, and you began to click through the program, quickly familiarizing yourself with it. Most audio software was built the same, and this one wasn’t so different than what you used in school – although it was certainly more state of the art than anything you’d ever had your hands on. 

Clicking down a compression drop down menu, you selected an option and a value table popped up. You began to manually set the values, and Nathan’s eyes glanced between the screen, your fingers, and you. 

“I don’t want to lose any of the top notes by doing this…” he cautioned, and it was your turn to snort. 

“You’re not going to. Give me ten minutes and I think you’ll be happy.” Decisively hitting the enter key before he could get a word in edgewise, another bar popped up on screen, letting you know the audio had begun compressing. Pickles was still standing, watching thoughtfully. “I mean, if this doesn’t work,” you started. “You might be better off moving the mic back and tuning low in post.” 

“I’m _not_ re-recording it!” Pickles spoke up again, and was again, ignored.

Nathan shook his head. You guessed that meant that moving the mic was off the table. Which was fine, you felt confident that this would work. Taking a seat next to Nathan, you watched along with him as the bar loaded. “You’d probably have more fun watching water boil,” Murderface threw out. No one answered him, and he rolled his eyes, grumbling something to himself about he might as well be invisible, and might as well kill himself. 

“So, where is Toki?” you asked, filling the silence yourself. The spontaneous kiss the two of you had shared still lingered in your mind. You weren’t sure what it meant. He’d probably just been drunk, but…

Skwisgaar glanced up at you for the first time since you had come in. “Probablys jacking it to the caring bears,” he smirked and looked back down to his guitar.

“Or making one of those replica sets.” Murderface suggested. “You know, he told me he was going to build me an F4 Phantom but the prick never did.” 

Skwisgaar chuckled. “Yous likes to playing with toys toos?” 

“Shut up, replicas aren’t toys.”

“Right, like how GI Joes aren’t dolls,” Pickles stepped in, teasing. “All right,” he announced, stretching his arms high above his head and exhaling through his nose. “I guess if that’s all you need from me, I’ve got naps to catch up on.” 

Nathan looked over to him, frowning a bit. “Leavin’?”

Pickles rolled his eyes, spreading his hands in a ‘what else do you want?’ gesture. “Dude, I wrote the drums, I beat the drums, it sounds mint, so it looks like my part here is over. I’m gonna walk away,” he pointed a finger at Nathan, narrowing his eyes somewhat as he started to back towards the door. “And if I find out this shit ended up in the recycling bin, mother douchebags, I swear to _god_, Nathan.”

Grumbling, Nathan turned back to his work, hunching deeper over the controls as he did so. “Yeah, whatever.”

William also stood; arms folded over his chest. “I guess I’ll come with you.”

“Why were you even _here_, Murderface?” Pickles asked with an accusatory tone and lifted brow. “I don’t remember _your_ name on the email chain.”

William balked, his lower jaw flapping with incredulous stammers. “What, I can’t just hang out? I gotta be on the job to get a fuckin’ word in with you dill-holes? Are you serious?” Murderface began to complain as they both started out, shoving the studio doors open. 

“How about you, Skwisgaar?” Nathan asked without looking at him. 

Skwisgaar looked back up, inhaling a little, as though annoyed at being pointed out. “How abouts mes what?” 

Turning in his seat somewhat, Nathan just looked at Skwisgaar for a second, before jabbing his thumb in the direction of the exit. “You leaving? Probably don’t need you either.”

Opening his mouth for a moment, Skwisgaar glanced your way, his eyes catching yours, before he closed it. He seemed to be working something out for himself in his head, and you noticed his fingers tighten protectively around the neck of his instrument. He exhaled, looking off to the side as he stood. “Yeah, sure. Calls if you has anythings yous needs.” Those blue eyes were on yours as he said this, and you felt he’d said it only to you. He then swept from the studio, perhaps following after the others. 

Once the great doors swung shut again, it was just you and Nathan. 

The silence closed in on you suddenly, feeling thick and palpable. It was cut occasionally by the creak of Nathan’s seat as he would readjust himself, or the quiet tapping of his fingers along the desktop. The song finished compressing, and Nathan loaded it up again. He clicked to a part of the song where Pickles was beating down hard, turning up the volume. 

It sounded great, like you thought it would. With a few clicks, you’d managed to clean up the muffle. You’d done it a hundred times in a music restoration class you’d had to take, and while stupidly simple you felt quite happy with yourself for solving the problem. While you began to feel a little pride, you were surprised to feel as tense and unsure at the same time. If Nathan didn’t like it, what would that mean?

“So…” you started, tentative. “The drums sound good?” 

Nathan was still for a second, and then nodded a little, though his frown deepened. “So,” you started again. “What else is bothering you?”

Leaning back, Nathan hit a few keys before him once again, restarting the song. You two sat and listened, quietly, and you tried your best to keep your mind on the work. It felt a little uncomfortable next to Nathan, unsure of his opinion of you or if he’d respect your ability. He had brushed over your little trick as if it had been nothing. 

Well, it kind of had been nothing.

“There.” Nathan punched a key to pause the song, rewinding it somewhat. He upped the volume of his own track, his vocals blaring through the speakers – and you could hear it. The soft buzz that would be irritating to any trained ear. Some kind of…interference. “Gonna have to re-record it…” 

“But what’s causing it?” You asked. “Wireless internet signal?” 

Nathan shook his head. “Nah. We’re not allowed any internet in here.” 

You couldn’t help but smile. “Not _allowed_?” He didn’t bother to answer, but you figured it was another one of Charles’ ploys to get the band to work. “It could be the equipment. Do you all use the same recording booth? Same mics, and everything?” 

Shaking his head a second time, Nathan rolled his chair back so he could stand. “No. Good point.” He moved over towards what looked to you like an equipment closet. You quickly joined him. 

“So, we’re looking for a new mic or…?” 

“Yeah.”

Nathan Explosion, who filled each Dethklok song with dramatic, brutalized lyrics, was a man of very few words. Silence settled between the two of you again as you began to look. Nathan, with his height, reached up to the top of the closet to move aside boxes and wheels of corded speaker wire, while you knelt to snoop around the lower shelves.

As you two were rummaging, something large shifted on the top shelf and toppled down. A mini amp cruised into the side of Nathan’s head, and his neck cocked back at the impact. “Hrnk-“

“Holy shit, are you okay?!” You scrambled up. 

“Yeah.” Nathan answered tersely, and continued to look around in the upper shelf for the mic. 

“That thing just whacked you in the head!” You were concerned, but he kept on going, as if it’d been nothing but a pillow. 

“Yeah.” 

You accepted that that might be all you’d get, and sunk back to the lower shelves. You felt a little insecure, unsure of when to talk or if being too quiet was weird. 

“Can…can I ask you something, Nathan?” You began, trying to be bold. Charles told you to sell yourself. Charles told you that he felt confident you could help Nathan. You couldn’t be the wall flower forever, being dragged from room to bedroom by Toki and Skwisgaar. If you were going to be more than a fan – if you were going to work here, you would have to act like you worked here. 

For a second, he was quiet, seemingly reluctant as he chucked half a broken microphone stand over his shoulder. “Sure.”

It was your turn to go quiet for a moment. Maybe you hadn’t wanted him to say yes afterall. “Can I ask you why…why it seems like you have a problem with me, or something? I don’t want to be disrespectful,”

“Pretty bad start,” he gruffed.

You swallowed, keeping your eyes on a box of miscellaneous electronics before you, shuffling through it meticulously. “…but I Just feel like you would have picked someone else for the job.” 

He sighed above you, and you looked up. He wasn’t looking down at you. “Probably not. You’re okay. But fans are…you know. They think we’re their friends because they listen to our music, when we don’t know any one of the jack-offs. They don’t know us, either. Lots of them are out for money, and girls are worse.”

“How?”

“They think we’re gonna marry them or that they’ll have our fuckin’ kids and get paid, or something. They’re in it for the scam.”

You frowned. You weren’t sure if it was always that way, but you knew it might be often that way for them. You hadn’t said no to Skwisgaar, because he was, as Pickles once said, ‘Skwisgaar’. Just the idea of jumping into bed with him had been appealing enough to convince you, though any guy on campus that might ask you the same would have been given a big ‘fuck off’. You felt a little embarrassed, thinking about it. You were fine with being a groupie, happy to be another stupid fan along for the ride. Or, at least you had been. You wouldn’t say you were in it to get a relationship out of him, though, at the least. “I get it, I think.” 

Before you could add anything else, your eye caught something familiar.

“Oh, here!” You called out, finding a mic buried within a nest of cords. “It looks like it’s an older model, but we can run a tester on her and see how it goes, hey?” You suggested, standing up. 

Taking the mic from you, Nathan twisted it in his hand. “Huh. This is one of the mics we used to use with Toki when he first joined.” 

“Do you all have separate mics?” 

“Nah, any guitar or bass is usually recorded by Skwisgaar anyway, so we keep the settings the same for Toki and Murderface. But, when Toki first joined, things were a little different. Over time, Skwisgaar started taking over for Toki and Murderface’s parts more and more.” Nathan grunted, scratching the back of his head. “Made sense. He wrote their parts, and both of them are lazy bastards. Especially Toki.”

“Maybe Skwisgaar just has a problem with letting go of some control,” you offered. From what you knew now, it also seemed like Nathan could learn a lesson about that, himself, and ease off the reigns when it came to the creative direction. Maybe this was what Toki was trying to tell you the other night, at the rec center.

At the same time, you loved every album Dethklok had released. If Nathan was consistently domineering, maybe it _did_ contribute to the quality of the work. “You know, I always wondered how the rhythm guitar and bass parts always sounded so clean and precise compared to your earlier albums.” 

“You thought they were sloppy?” Nathan asked, head tilting back, ready to defend his music. 

You put your hands up. “No, not sloppy but just…you know what I mean. Skwisgaar plays perfectly.”

“Yeah.”

“And the others don’t play _perfectly_, but…” You started, and Nathan exhaled loudly. 

“Yeah. Look, let’s set this up and finish. I have a taco bell coupon that expires tonight, so the faster we get this done the better.” He spun the mic around in his one hand. “Andrew usually just nods along. I like it when Andrew does that.” 

You nodded along, and both of you stepped into the recording booth to reconfigure the mic and settings. Once everything was ready, you took your place in front of the recording panel outside the booth while Nathan slipped some headphones over his head.

Hours seemed to pass between you two, one headphone sitting over one of your ears, the other against your collarbone as you listened to Nathan run through the lyrics again and again. It only took the tester to find out that the interference issue was solved, but Nathan worked hard to recreate the same intensity he’d achieved in the first place.

It gave you goosebumps to listen to it. With every stop and start; you headed the controls and Nathan and you talked through the open mic. You needed very little direction, and Nathan seemed to ease up around you, becoming more and more comfortable as you had to record again and again to appease his perfectionist nature. 

After a half dozen runs, Nathan stepped out of the booth, wiping his forehead with his bicep. “I should’ve grabbed some water. I’ll be back. You want anything?” 

“Water would be good,” you agreed, yawning a little. It was getting late, but knowing you had no class to go to tomorrow, you were happy to stay glued to your seat. How often did someone get their dream job, after all? Nathan nodded, and left. 

You had some time to think. 

Reflecting on what Nathan had said, you wondered about your position as a fan. The group had integrated you into their posse over the weekend without bringing it up. You hadn’t pressed about music, or autographs. You didn’t even press Skwisgaar for anything – he had approached you. You didn’t think that you were infringing, but you understood the concern. When you had first arrived, you had been starry eyed and excited just to breathe their air.

Work was a different ball game. You would have to be objective about their music to help edit it. Could you do that, as a fan? Or, was Charles right? Was your knowledge of Dethklok’s sound an asset?

The door creaked, and you sat up straight, surprised how quick Nathan had been. When you turned around to greet him, you instead saw Toki with some coffees-to-go in his hands. “You’ve been in here a long time!” 

“Toki!” You exclaimed, more excited than you’d expected. You found your feet making their way over to him without your conscious command. Throwing your arms around him, you hugged him enthusiastically, and he returned it, careful about the coffee. You held each other for a moment longer than what might be friendly, and when you withdrew, he looked down at you with a grand smile.

“How is it going?” He asked, curiously. The two of you started back towards the panel, and you suggested he put the coffee in a less hazardous zone. 

“Thanks, I honestly needed this,” you picked one up and sat down. Water be damned. Coffee could summon your soul back into your body. You had only slept a few hours the night before, and a restless sleep at that. Now you’d been working late into the night for who knew how long. You took a deep drink, wincing through the hot pain it burned down your throat. It was a also little too sweet, and you had to wonder how much sugar Toki had put in it. 

“It’s going okay. I think we’re almost done, actually.”

“Yeah?” Toki sat down in a chair beside you, leaning over to the screen. “Complicated stuff.” 

Smiling yourself. “Only if you don’t know what you’re looking at.”

“Ams glads you’re back,” Toki said. “I was worrying that I wouldn’t gets to see you again.” 

You smiled, feeling warm at the sentiment. “Me too, honestly.” 

As the two of you sat there, your mind one again fell back on the kiss that you two had shared. You wondered if he was thinking of it, or if he had thought about it at all. He was looking at you. Just looking, and smiling, though after a moment that smile shifted into a look of unease. 

“I…need to say sorry.” He said it like a confession.

You blinked. “Say sorry for what?”

“I…kissed you like that on the bus.” 

Your heart sank. So, he had thought about it. But what was he sorry for? Did he regret it? Had it been a mistake? 

Toki leaned back a little, looking shy. “Skwisgaar and I had just been tellings Williams he can’ts just goes around and kiss any girls he wants to, and then I….well, I just wents ahead and kissed a girl I wantsted to.”

Hope rejuvenated within you. So he _had_ wanted to?

Why did it feel different with Toki? Skwisgaar had been more than sexually attentive. If you wanted the prestige of sleeping with rich, powerful musicians, then Skwisgaar had more than afforded you that opportunity. What Nathan had been talking with you earlier, you knew you’d been called out. You liked sleeping with one of the most famous guitarists in the contemporary age, but…

With Toki, you didn’t feel like you were a fan, but a friend. His way with you charmed you in a manner Skwisgaar missed. It was the way Toki always seemed to find his way to your side. The way his touch guided you at the small of your back or his hand in yours, and the way his kind words would ask after you. It was different. Even the kiss had been…

Different. 

Even now, when he looked at you, he looked right into you. You’d be surprised if he wasn’t a mind reader. His eyes were so open and genuine, you felt like your life story was being read without you narrating even a page of it.

“I…” You started, unsure how to continue. Being told that Toki had wanted to kiss you threw you a bit for a loop. “It’s okay. I…I really didn’t mind,” you said honestly. “So I guess,” you blushed and looked down, “there’s nothing really to be uh…sorry for.” 

Toki made a thoughtful noise at the back of his throat, but you couldn’t look up at him, feeling too embarrassed. How un-brutal of you. “I thinks ams still sorry,” Toki spoke, decidedly. 

“What for?” you asked as you glanced back up. 

“Well,” he looked to you, craning his head down somewhat, to angle his lips closer to yours. “I woulds like to kiss you when yous not drunk on a bus with a bunch of other guys, maybe.” 

You sure wouldn’t mind if he did, and you felt your breath coming in shallower. “Why don’t you kiss me, then?” You challenged, looking to his lips. Toki’s nostrils flared, his chest filling with air as a surge of testosterone undoubtedly pulsed through him. He didn’t lean down, however, and you remained perched near the end of your seat, waiting for him to descend on you.

“We should speaks in my room,” Toki recommended, with a heavy exhale. “I would like to sees you there, whens you cans be.” He took one of your hands into one of his, and you found yourself nodding a little. 

The door opened again, and you jumped in your seat. It was Nathan. He was carrying three water bottles, one of them already half empty. He stopped once he noticed the two of you, huddling together as you were. He looked off, kicking at some imaginary pebble on the ground. “Uhh…”

Toki seemed reluctant to let you go, but he withdrew his hand, swiveling to face Nathan, gesturing to the spare coffee. “I thought you two could use a picks-you-up!” His tone returned to something more light and jovial, and less heady and husky. 

Nathan nodded, eyeing you two carefully as he walked up, setting the bottles down. “Thanks.” Picking up the spare cup, his goliathan hand dwarfing the thing, Nathan tipped the lip back and began to chug it. 

You and Toki stared, mystified. “Isn’t…isn’t that hot?” You asked, almost scared. What kind of power did he have to drink burning hot coffee?

“Very.” He answered, crushing the cup with a squeeze of his palm, and chucking it into a waste bin. 

“Wowee!” Toki exclaimed. 

“Why did you put so much milk and sugar in that? It’s like one percent coffee.” Nathan complained. “Might as well be SunnyD.” 

Toki shrugged, putting his hands up. “Because coffee sucks.” 

“Get out of my seat.” Nathan snarled, and Toki whined, protesting as he got up. 

“Oh comes on, chillax!” Toki rebutted, crossing his arms over his chest.

Nathan did the same, leering at Toki. “ ‘Chillax?’ ” Damnit Toki, stop talking to Twinkletits!” 

“He’s a cools guy, Nathans!” Toki cried back, and you felt like you were watching a teenager and their parent bicker. 

Rubbing his temples with one hand, Nathan shook his head. “Just get out, Toki. Some of us are working.” 

Toki sighed and rolled his eyes, but took his leave then, casting one last look at you with a little wave before he did so. Whatever tumultuous tension that was brewing between you and Toki dissipated.

“So, ready to work or you wanna keep making goo-goo eyes at the door?” Nathan asked, taking his seat where Toki had been. 

You shook yourself out of it, feeling yourself get red again. “Yes! Yes, I’m ready. Sorry. Here.” You opened up Nathan’s newest vocal track, and isolated it so the two of you could have a listen. The quality was much cleaner, and as you upped the volume, neither of you could pick out any discernible interference or ringing. You occasionally glanced over at Nathan, trying to read him, but he remained furrow-browed and hunched over, eyes down at the keys. His head slowly began to nod.

“I like it,” he finally spoke up, leaning back. Like a man done after a long day at the factory, his legs spread out and a settled sigh exhaled through his nostrils. “I guess you know what you’re doing. Nice job.” It was a real compliment, and he looked you in the eye as he said it. 

Like you had just made your parents proud, you felt a gleaming grin come over you. You finally felt like he accepted you as part of the group, and you were triumphant. 

“Thanks.” It was all you could say, without feeling like you were going to go off on a bragging tangent. Your skills were validated, and slowly you were becoming more entrenched in Dethklok’s world. 

“You gonna be at the shoot?” He asked, and you blinked, now curious yourself. 

“I don’t know. Is that something you would usually bring an audio tech to?” You didn’t imagine you’d be doing any of the sound editing on the video – the song would be dubbed over and any audio regarding the commercial otherwise shouldn’t be your concern. Or, at least you assumed so. You would have to look over that contract Charles had given you. 

Nathan shook his head. “No, but you’re not a usual audio tech either.” 

You turned to him, trying to judge his frown and furrow. Was that a compliment? An invite of itself? “_Should_ I go?” Trying the question instead, coaxing him to elaborate, Nathan leaned forward instead as the song came to an end, clicking away. The program closed and the screen went dark. You waited for your answer, anyway. 

Eventually, Nathan looked over to you, his head titled back. He was some kind of bull-dog-man, for sure, his thick jaw taut as you watched him roll his tongue around in his mouth. Thinking. Looked like hard work for him, his eyes squinting with focus. 

“…Yeah.” He nodded once, and stood.

You sucked in an excited breath and followed suit, bounding up as you trailed behind him. “Awesome! Then I’ll come! Oh, and do you know what I’m going to do tomorrow, by any chance? I haven’t been given a schedule or anything…” You’d only been told to help Nathan finish the song. Did you have to check in with Charles? You would _really_ have to look over that contract.

He shook his head, and opened the studio door, ushering you out first. “No clue. We’ll find out tomorrow, I guess. You staying in the guest hall?” 

You started to nod, but stopped, remembering suddenly Toki sitting across from you, your hand in his, and his asking you to come to his room when you could. Did he mean…immediately? “Uh, yeah.” You squawked. “I think I’ll probably be in the same room that I slept in the other night.” The very room Toki had picked for you. 

But…

The studio closed behind you two, and Nathan stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Right. See you around.” 

“Yeah,” you murmured. “See you around. Enjoy taco bell.” 

Nathan smiled a little, just a little, and then you watched him walk off.

You considered your choices. You could go to your room, or…

Not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, as always! It took forever to get this one edited...i hate editing lmao. I'm also back at work, so that's exciting! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's left me messages and comments, they're very sweet and I look forward to seeing them! I also have a bit of an announcement? I told myself after chapter ten I'd start a new fic! I won't be stopping this one, of course, but it'll give me room to jump between two muses. If you're interested, I've made a poll for which idea I should pursue. [Here!](https://www.easypolls.net/poll.html?p=5efec2a9e4b060b43a219b2c)
> 
> For updates follow me @vodkaexplorer


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You visit Toki in the night || Very NSFW chapter

So, what _would_ you do? 

The obvious, of course. You were predictable. 

Pickles’ voice whispered between your ears. _’Guitarslut’_. 

He hit the nail on the head, there. 

You had only been to Toki’s room once, however, and you looked left and right down the halls to see if either direction jumped out in memory. They stood as symmetrical twins, unwilling to yield their winding secrets. Intuition would have to lead you instead, so you picked one end in a mental coin toss and started off. 

Right. If you turned left here…and then the door on the right…and then left _there_…the kitchen should be...nope. Not even close.

Try again. 

Damnit. 

Well, if this was going to be some kind of temporary home for you, then it wouldn’t be the worst to learn where you were going to be going. This likely wouldn’t be the first time you would have to wander these passages alone. You stopped before a corner, trying to conjure any remembrance of where Toki had led you when you’d first left the studio together on Saturday. You could only recall your conversation, his frustration. Your excitement. How his hand held yours.

_’We should speaks in my room,’_ he’d said. Looked right into you as he said it. 

You turned, stopping as you spotted a familiar figure walking down the next corridor towards you. 

Skwisgaar. 

“Oh,” he noticed you second, but greeted you first. “Hey.” 

He was a picture of languid elegance as usual, his shoulders slacked back and casual. His golden hair illuminated him like a halo. The hall acted as his dark backdrop, reminiscent of religious saints in brooding, ancient oil paintings. 

His expression was relaxed; even bored as he closed the distance between you two. “Finished editsings?” 

Skwisgaar was difficult for you to read, you were learning. Was he as superficial as he presented himself? As infatuated with his guitar as he was indifferent to your presence, unless it struck him as an opportunity? He could also have depths, fronting aloofness while he tormented in his inner worlds, testing his shallow flirtations against you for attention and validity. Both could be true. You couldn’t peg him entirely for either, though he had taken the time to stop in the hall late in the night to greet you. 

Did that mean something? 

“Yeah,” you answered. “I think things are on schedule now.”

Skwisgaar chuckled cynically to himself. “No such things as schedules. Deadlines is when Nathans says we is dones; no others way around of its.” You wondered how that played out with the label. Still, you noted how Skwisgaar relaxed further, a clouded veil behind his eyes lifted. You imagined, while perhaps quieter about it than Pickles, Skwisgaar _also_ had not wanted to re-record the commercial for a fifth time. “Where are yous goings?” 

It was a question, not an interrogation, but your spine still snapped rigid. Trying to remain natural, you shrugged, mostly unsure of how you were supposed to answer. Could you tell the truth? “I don’t know,” you sighed, answering yourself as much as Skwisgaar. “I think I’m just lost. Trying to find my way around. I can’t have an escort every time I need to piss, right?” 

“Right,” he agreed. “Ams walkings toos. I will come.” You nodded. Privately, you weren’t sure about him following along, considering you were trying to slyly rediscover where Toki’s room was. Guilt crept through your veins, growing comfortable there. 

For a while, you two walked in relative silence. You had to walk a little faster to keep up with Skwisgaar’s long, slow strides, occasionally looking up to him and his angular face. While he said he was going to come with you, you found that you were trailing after him instead.

“Yous likes to dance?” Skwisgaar asked, breaking the quiet you shared. 

The question was unexpected. How long had he been thinking about it? “Depends.” 

“On?” He prompted.

“On who, and what kind of dance.” 

“Ams thinking,” he started, and you turned up at him with interest. “Nots verys hard, but ams thinkings, we should go some place togethers.” 

“Now?” You asked, feeling your pulse quicken. Was he asking you out on a date? Right now? You were living some kind of trope, asking two guys to prom and trying to have two dates at the same time without them discovering one another. If you left with Skwisgaar, what about Toki…? 

Skwisgaar shook his head. “No, later.” 

You visibly relaxed, and Skwisgaar tilted his head back, interested in how you’d responded. “I’ll let you knows when.” 

A lump had formed at the back of your mouth, and you swallowed the hard pressure ball. As you two rounded a bend in the hall, the landscape looked more familiar. No; not looked. _Felt_. An echo of you leaving Skwisgaar’s room passed in your mind’s eye. “Oh, hey, isn’t this where your room is?” You asked. 

His steps stuttered, and a smirk tugged at him. “You remembered?” There was an intonation of pleasure in his voice, satisfied that you may have. “Yes, I sleeps downs the hall heres.” 

“Does everyone sleep down this wing?” It felt a little large to house only one room. And if not bedrooms – what was behind each and every gothic-pointed doorway? 

“Mmm, no, but we are close enough.”

“Toki?” 

Skwisgaar bristled at the name, his shoulders rising with tension. “No.” The sound of the denial was heavy in your ears. “Toki lives one floor down. Basement dweller,” he jested lightly, as though recognizing his temper sharpening, feeding back in some levity from the hard ‘no’. “If yous ever likes,” he opened one arm towards his room. “You can knock anytimes.”

Was that an emotional offer, or a physical one? Your own cynicism brewed, and you tried to cast it off. He said _anytime_, and maybe he meant it. 

You didn’t see yourself crying on his shoulder about the traumas of your past or the anxieties of your future anytime soon, however. 

And Toki lived one floor down. 

“So I will be seeings you laters?” Skwisgaar confirmed, sensing your distraction and you glanced at him, nodding a little. 

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I’ll see you later.” 

Skwisgaar raised a hand, blasé, before he turned towards his chambers.

For a moment you watched him go, watched a heavy sigh lift and drop his shoulders, and then you left. 

\----------

You knew where you were now. Back down the corridor, descending a stairwell, you _knew_.

Staring down the hall, its open throat beckoned you. Toki’s door was close. Summoning what courage you could, you allowed yourself to be swallowed down the passageway before your feet stopped before a door. No different than any other you’d seen in Mordhaus, but your intuition whispered different. 

_This was it._

Raising your good hand, your fist hesitantly hovered over the door’s front. What would happen, you wondered? Your feelings of guilt and confusion churned in your stomach, and you weren’t sure if it was regarding Skwisgaar, or Toki, or both. You felt like you weren’t handling this right. Yet, what exactly did you mean to yourself by ‘handling this’? What was _‘this’_? 

Before you could work yourself up into a cycle of overthinking, you rapped your knuckles along the entrance.

There was noise of movement from beyond, and within a short moment, the door swung open to reveal Toki behind it. He was a figure enshrouded by the shadows of his bedroom, his bright blue eyes vivid, though half-lidded. They were a lighthouse, calling you inwards. 

He rubbed one of his eyes, as though he’d just meant to lay his head down. Though as his gaze settled on you, he quickly lit up with surprise and exhilaration. His back straightened as renewed energy filled him and he greeted you by name. His accent rounded out each syllable. “Ams glads to see yous.” 

You let out a breath. “Me too.” 

Toki reached out his hand to you, so you took it, and gently he tugged you inside. He let the door fall shut behind you, and without releasing you, he locked the door handle with a soft _click_. You were trapped in his cage. An ancient instinct of unsettlement infringed on the edges of your senses. 

_Cage_, you reconsidered to yourself, _or dungeon?_

“Toki’s got something for you,” 

“Oh?” 

He led you back towards a desk set up in one corner of his room. You hadn’t paid much mind to it during your first visit, but you noticed now that there was an array of different craft materials scattered across its top. A small wooden rack held phials of paint, and different scissors and pens were stacked together in a black mug. It smelled mildly of glue and solvent. He pulled out the chair that was tucked into the desk and you took it as your sign to sit down. 

“Is your arms okays?” He asked, eyeing the sling. You’d mostly forgotten about it during the editing process. It hadn’t hurt at all while you’d been with Nathan. Though, that was hardly a shocker, considering you’d only been sitting and typing for most of the work. 

“It’s okay, it really doesn’t feel bad at all.” Though, you would still probably have to see a real doctor about it. 

“Your head?”

“Feels okay. Don’t think it added any damage that wasn’t already there,” you laughed with depreciating candor.

Toki gave you a sympathetic smile, and let go of your hand so that he could pull open a drawer of the craft table. He removed something small, enclosing it with his fingers. “You has to close your eyes,” he told you, so you obeyed, letting them slide shut. “And puts outs your hands.” 

Lifting your hands, cupping them together, you felt something like a coin fall into your palms. Your head began to tilt down so you could look, but you heard a sharp. “Ah, ah!” You stopped short. “Didn’ts says you could opens them, dids I?”

That _deriding_ tone reminded you of how he’d cornered you by the bathroom of the Dethshuttle. You breathed in, and waited, ears ringing. You thumbed the object in your hand carefully, trying to guess what it might be, its face smooth under your touch. 

“Okay,” Toki conceded, his tone lightening as he laughed. “Comes on, look, look!” 

Your eyes fluttered open. 

Looking down, you saw it was some kind of…pin. Large for its kind; about the size of a silver dollar. The backdrop was black, and painted amateurishly over it was a bust of a bleeding skeleton holding a microphone to its open jaw. Around the rim of the badge, in carefully crafted white letters read ‘ZOUND GUY’. You felt your smile in your words before you said them. “You made this?” You asked, tenderly.

“Welcomes to the bands!” Toki exclaimed. “You cans wear it and peoples can knows you are the sound guy!” 

You twisted the pin around in your hand. “Wow, Toki.” You shook your head with disbelief. “You’re…so…” you weren’t sure how to put it, as you lowered the gift to your lap. Peering up at him, you saw whatever amusement he had garnered by ordering you to keep your eyes shut was now gone, back to being genial.

This was a moving gesture, and you were deeply touched. How could you not be? The last time someone had made you something by hand as a present was probably in the second grade. Now, you were of an age where your friends usually gave out cash or alcohol for celebrations. 

“Mm?” He seemed intrigued as he loomed over you in your seat. Tilting your head back so you could meet his eyes above you, you sensed that he liked looking _down_ on you as much as you liked looking _up_ at him. “Ams so what?” 

Smiling outwardly, you looked down to your lap once more, continuing to turn the present around in your hands, watching as the dim light caught the shining black paint. You thumbed over the skeleton’s ribcage. “I don’t know. You really…are just something else, huh?” You couldn’t just say he was _different_. It wasn’t enough to explain the foreign feelings he stirred in you. Hoping the sincerity carried in your words, you glanced to him again. Toki’s eyes were half moons of sparkling joy.

He put out his hand to you. “Cans I helps you put it on?” He vaguely gestured to the pin, and you offered it back to him. 

Beckoning you with his fingers to rise, you stood and approached him. Opening the back, Toki dipped his fingers below the collar of your shirt as he fed the pin through the fabric. The back of his knuckles were warm and rough against the skin of your collarbone. You hadn’t noticed before – likely because you’d been wildly, _wildly_ drunk – but Toki smelled lightly of chocolate and modelling paint. 

As he clipped the pin securely, you unfairly thought of Skwisgaar being this close to you, and the compulsion of compunction encouraged you to avoid Toki’s eyes. You looked to his walls to distract yourself, and you were met with a jarring, unmoving glare from one of Toki’s family photos.

The strange robbed figures were cast against dark backgrounds of gnarled willows, the seams of their mouths down turned and somber as they watched you. “Are those your parents?”

You could feel Toki’s lips curl into a frown before checking yourself. His eyes followed yours to the photo, and he leaned back away from you to cross the floor. “Yes.” Toki hovered in front of the photo of them before he slipped it off the wall. Carrying it back, he looked down to their glassy visages wordlessly before he handed the picture off to you.

You took it, eyeing the two. 

They were both broad faced with the same soul-staring eyes that Toki had. His father was a frightening figure, his brow low, eyes boring through the very lens and into you. Not with the same empathy Toki carried. No. While knowing, it was dark, it was…

“Once I reads in mother’s journal that she kepts as a girl, that hers and my father woulds dance the _springleik_ as young people.” He was quiet. “…I can’ts imagine that versions of my father. I can’ts imagines anything but the quiets mans he was.”

You weren’t familiar with the dance, but seeing at the photo yourself, both his parents looked…traditional, to put it mildly. Very traditional. If you were honest, you couldn’t picture the woman in the photo dancing any more than you could the man. “Well, to catch a babe like that I guess he had to pull out all the stops.” You joked lightly, smiling up at him, and Toki laughed brightly back.

“Gross.”

Handing the photo back to him, Toki set the frame on the craft desk. Indecision crested over him, and he tapped the frame once.

“Skwisgaar and you are close,” he mentioned, before continuing poignantly; “Why?” 

“_Close_?” You repeated, blind-sided. You avoided the direct confrontation the question challenged. Besides, you didn’t know anything more about Skwisgaar than what you already had learned from tabloids and magazines. “I can’t say we’re _close_...I’ve barely talked to the guy.” You two hadn’t shared any particularly intimate conversations, despite your intimate moments. 

“So why has you gone offs with him?” Toki dismissed your deflection easily, disarming you with another head on question. It threw you off guard, and you can’t help but look away from him, feeling that same shame swirling in your guts; in your blood stream. Nesting there. 

“I don’t know…because he asked, I guess?” What a weak answer. 

Toki inhaled thoughtfully, and he moved up to you. He raised his hands to your shoulder sling, beginning to work at the secure ties slowly. “Ands...what ifs _I_ ask?”

You fixed your gaze on his, finally. There were no more questions about it; no more doubt. Toki was baring his interests before you. What did he expect you to say? Your lips parted, and you watched one another, his eyes intensely on yours, unflinching as the sling fell away. Your arm slowly returned to its natural state at your side, and he dropped the sling at your feet. 

“Why don’t you ask and find out?” You found yourself saying, quite bold though your voice was soft and strained. 

Toki didn’t ask you anything, his chest expanding as a shot of adrenaline propelled through him.

Instead, one of his palms raised to the back of your neck, settling against your nape as his fingers pressed up into your hairline. Tilting you back, he exposed the length of your neck to him. “You walkeds in heres thinking about him,” Toki accused, and you swallowed, nodding as your hands found the front of his shirt.

“Yes,” you confessed.

“You won’t leaves here that way,” he told you assuredly.

Arousal pooled in the basest parts of yourself, and whatever look you had in your eye then, he enjoyed with a wicked smile.

Then he kissed you. He crushed his mouth to yours, ravenous, and you, needing to be devoured, threw your arms around his neck. Whatever discomfort that panged in your elbow sat second saddle to his lips locked in yours. Your fingers gripped his deltoids, fisting his shirt.

You kissed, and kissed, and kissed, and Toki pushed you back towards the bed until you were both atop it, and he atop you. His knee was at your hip, his other leg hanging off the bed, thigh over your thigh. He was heavy, and intentionally seemed to lay against you. You felt his hips began to rut against yours, his voice coming out in exasperated sighs of frustration. Already you could feel the rigid shape of him through your clothes. 

“Tease,” he practically snarled against your lips before he pulled himself back, settling his weight against your pelvis so you wouldn’t be able to escape. His hands began to work at the thick belt on his hips, pulling the strap through each loop. 

“Teasings since the starts, hasn’t you been? I see how you looks at me.”

Caught red handed, it seemed, and so you struggled for the fun of it, trying to writhe out from under him. “M’not a tease,” you talked back with confident insubordination. “I didn’t _mean_ it.” 

Toki’s buckle fell from his hands as he grabbed your forearms, pressing himself fully against you again, pinning your hands high above your head. “Oh, she didn’t _means_ it,” he demeaned. Your sore elbow sharped distantly at the force, only fueling your appetite. “Don’t test me,” he spoke lowly, his glower dark and animal above you. Your most primal self responded to it. 

Batting your lashes appeasingly, you attempted to be demure as you craned your head upwards, looking for his lips. “Kiss me,” you whined imploringly below him. He released your damaged arm so he could grip you by your lower jaw, his thumb and forefingers against your mandibles, pressing his fingers against you. 

“Absolutlies not,” Toki answered with mock pity, before he lifted himself again, pulling his fly down so hard you were surprised the zipper didn’t snap off. 

He released you to shove his hand down his pants, freeing himself. His cock bobbing out from the waistband of his underwear. “Kiss _me_” He grabbed himself by the root of his cock, shaking it a little enticingly. He was girthy, his cockhead dark with prominent arousal. He lifted himself up on his knees, then moved back off the bed; off of you.

Freed, you pulled your legs up under yourself so you could kneel before him. Leaning forward, you set your hands first on his chest. His muscles were strong and taut below the clothes, and you couldn’t help but press your fingers against him as you moved down his front. You laid reverent kisses to his clothed torso, keeping your eyes on his as you did so. You moved lower and lower, until you shifted onto your stomach, becoming level with his length. 

One of Toki’s hands worked itself into your hair at the back of your head. He held you securely, but didn’t move to encourage you onwards. Your dream was close to reality, and you leaned forwards to give the head of his length a soft kiss. He let out a satisfied sigh, his fingers relaxing against your scalp as he pushed his hips forwards. You kissed it again, and then a third time. You enveloped the tip between your lips, sucking with the front of your mouth against him. The approving, unguarded sighs and moans Toki exasperated lifted you higher and higher. A desire to pleasure him positively reinforced itself within you.

Relaxing your jaw, you moved to take him in deeper, but he gripped your hair, keeping you at the end of his cock to your surprise. Raising your hand instead, defiantly, you were determined to touch him. Your fingers wrapped around his remaining shaft, applying stiff pressure.

“Ah-“ he gasped, hips pulsing forwards so his cockhead pushed against the front of your teeth. “Yes, lick it.” He commanded shakily and so you did, your mouth falling open as you let your tongue slide against him, dragging it across his salty skin in generous strides. You laid your tongue flat against his underside, letting your lips occasionally suction around the head of his cock while your hand firmly pumped. 

His eyes grew cloudy, pupils dilating into black pools, consuming the pale blue seas that they encompassed. 

Keeping a rhythm, gradually you began to increase your speed and Toki increased the urgency of his gently thrusting. When you were sure you were getting him close, you pressed your thumb against his underside, making a move towards his balls so you could cup them.

Before you could, your head was wrenched sharply backwards as he tugged on your hair, pulling you off and away from his dick. You cried out and felt him assertively bump his cockhead against your lips. “_Fuck_,” he whispered, smearing a mixture of himself and your salvia against your upper lip and across your cheek. “Cute.”

Toki chuckled lightly to himself. “You’re _too_ cute. Drives mes crazy, you know.” He smacked you on the hip and you rose to a kneel on the mattress again, before he shoved you backwards. Each of his hands landed on the outside of your hips, and with a deft, confident movement, he flipped you over onto your stomach. 

Your head spun with the ease in which he did so, rubbing your thighs together as your wet warmth begged for some attention. “But, beings cutes won’t be enough to save you from me,” Toki avowed, and behind yourself you could hear him shirk his shirt, tossing it where you couldn’t see. 

Gripping your pants by the waistline, Toki unceremoniously pulled them down along with your underpants, exposing your bare ass. You gasped, your skin shocked at the sudden air contact. Both of his hands settled over your globes, brawny fingers massaged and groped your flesh.

“How many times did he makes you cum?” Toki asked, brazenly.

You couldn’t answer at first. You weren’t sure how. No guy had ever asked you something like that in bed. He slapped your rump affirmatively. “Ams askings a question.”

“T...Twice,” you answered meekly, adding up your two few encounters with Skwisgaar. 

Placing his hands on the back of your thighs, his thumbs dipping between them, Toki spread your legs open. You tried turning your head, trying to see what you could over your shoulder, and one of Toki’s hands found its way to your upper back to keep you flat against the bed. His free hand was against your cunt in an instant, his fingers gently rubbing circles into your mound. Occasionally he would slide them between your lips or bunt them against your clit. 

Jerking, the bundle of nerves at your core was already sensitive and wanton. As a precious pleasure began to stack up, you almost closed your thighs to stop from toppling over the edge too soon and received a hard 

_SLAP_

Against your ass.

Crying out in raptured surprise, your calves pressed back against your thighs, and you aimed to keep your center accessible. “Naughty girl,” he commented, and you pained to hear some edge of moody disappointment to the word. “We’ll has to teach you better, hm?” At the same time, his middle finger pressed into your wet hole, and the whole of you shuddered to receive him. 

“Toki,” you whimpered, and he let out a faint sound, rewarding you by immediately adding a second finger. It gave you little time to acclimate to the breadth of his digits, yet it soothed something in you. Something desperate, something that clawed. It wanted to turn you back around and wrap your thighs about his waist. The taste of his salty precum still stained your lips, the potent bitter dark chocolate of his natural aroma an aromatic aphrodisiac. “Toki..!”

Two pats met your left hip, and you wriggled against his steadily thrusting fingers before he withdrew them. You halted with emotion, a needy word leaving you. “Up, darling, up on your knees,” Toki’s voice softened, for just a moment, though pulled thin with his own desires. He leaned down to kiss you on your shoulder, gentling a love bite into your skin to mark his time there. 

Heeding him, your trembling knees lifted your hips into the air. As you attempted to push up on your hands as well, Toki’s hand at your back held your upper half solidly down. You couldn’t get up if you liked; and what you really liked was how the finely developed sinews and musculature of his bicep flexed and curled to keep you pressed taut as a bowstring. 

Blessedly, his fingers returned, filling you with restored vigor. He began to fuck you mercilessly, his pace growing passionate. Cresting against your g-spot once you nearly buckled, and he moved his hand from your back to your hip, keeping you up as your upper half jellied into the bedspread. “Is thats whats yous want?” he questioned, disparagingly. “Yous want Toki to fucks you there?” Aiming intuitively, Toki made the perfunctory choice to start hammering against your pleasure point. 

_Whoa_

An electric current spiked through your nervous system, lighting every synapse as overwhelming stimulation began to pulse and beat from where he plunged into you.

If you could turn your head any further, you would have liked to see how his pectorals worked and heaved as his calloused fingers pumped you again, and again, and again, and _oh fuck Toki_ again and _Toki, I’m gonna_ and again and _”Toki! I- I-!”_

_You came once, hard and fast on his fingers. You seized rigidly against him at first, your hands lashing out on the bed so you could pull yourself away as crashing pleasure hit you, stack after stack. Bricks of watery pleasure hit you from above, ricocheting up and down your inner thighs, through your groin, your heart, your brain. _

But he didn’t relent. 

He wrapped an arm around your upper torso, his free hand grabbing one of your breasts greedily as he pulled you back against his chest. You sank further onto his hand, and still shocks of orgasm relentlessly drove through you. “Fuck, Toki, I can’t-!” you started to plead, but his hand persevered, pumping you with deep, quickened thrusts. 

“Lying whore,” he hissed. “You’ll do it twice for me.”

Never relieving pressure of your g-spot, it didn’t take long until you began to crest a second peak. Tears welled in your eyelids from the over-stimulation, and you gripped hard onto Toki’s arm, body writhing to get away, but still you’d take what he’d give you. You wouldn’t tell him to _stop_. No. You _wanted_ this. 

“That’s it,” Toki encouraged, his own voice elevating, knuckles jerking hard against your clit. “That’s it. Gives me a second,” He released your breast only so that he could give it a sharp slap of its own, and you spilled again. 

“…ki!” You keened, your mind rolled in its skull, climax kicking you off a cliff-side. You were free falling, but Toki was holding you. You were nearly weightless, and your cunt screamed to get his fingers out of you, contracting violently around his hand as your hips and thighs wretched away from him. He released you finally and you fell away, curling up on the mattress as your body shook and your pelvis rolled. “Toki, f-fuck, ohgod I’m…” _still cumming_, your thought followed, losing your ability to speak quickly as well as your ability to discern up from down. “Spinning,” you whimpered.

“Beautifuls,” Toki whispered, climbing up onto the bed again. He gathered you in his arms and kissed you. “You’ve done so goods for mes.” Another kiss, slow and meaningful. “But…I’m nots finished withs you yet.”

The slick of his cock rubbed up against your backside, and your lower lip shook. You weren’t sure if you could handle anymore. But he wouldn’t be finished, because _he_ wasn’t finished. You shared the idea telepathically with him – or was that just your orgasm addled perception?

“I wants to touch you wheres he hasn’t. I want parts of you he hasn’t got.” Toki confessed to you, his state of mind hot and abandoned in arousal. Laying you back down against the mattress, his hands came up under your ass. “Hows bout this parts of you?” He began to work your ass again, spreading your cheeks somewhat as the pads of his thumbs dipped between them, close to your rear entrance. “Has he even been there?” 

It was acutely humiliating for him to ask, and you shook your head against the pillow. You were answered with a sharp slap to your backside. “Answers with words, whore. You hasn’t been fucked stupid _yet_.” 

“No,” you answered him.

“Onlys cause he didn'ts ask, ams sure." Toki sneered. "You fucking slut. Ams bet you’d fuck anyone here if they asked.” 

“No!” you protested weakly, trying to remain above the line. The pleasure was driving you further and further into little more than a babbling mess; little more than a center of primordial action, stimulated; firing. 

“No?” 

“No, I wouldn’t- not just anybody. I’ve dreamt of you,” you responded. 

“Dreamt of me?” When you nodded, he grinned, letting you go so he could lean towards an end table. From it, he retrieved a clear, label free bottle. Popping the cap, he tipped the bottle into his other hand. Lube coated his fingers, the gel thick and viscous as he rubbed it between his fingers. “Good.” 

Propping your legs up, he pressed two slippery fingers against your tight entrance, rubbing it gently, testing your response. Your backside flexed uncertainly, though you were quietly grateful he’d turned his focus from your now throbbing cunt. 

Slipping one finger inside you at first, you groaned, trying to relax against the intrusion. “Mm, not a bad fit. Evens afters alls this, you is greedy for more.” He thrust slowly inside of you, less for your pleasure and more to prepare your comfort. Once he added a second, he used both digits to stretch and coat you, applying more as necessary. 

He put your knees together as he folded both of your legs over one of his shoulders. He lined his cock up with your entrance, using his other hand to spread your cheeks, slipping the head between them. He rubbed the tip against you, groaning while he also covered his own length with lube. “Whats you wants?” He asked, and you bit your lip, unable to answer at first as he teased your hole. 

“P-please,” you started and he groped your ass, pressing his blunt nails into your skin.

“ ‘P-p-please’ what?” He mocked, his teeth at your ear, biting it lightly. 

“Please punish my ass,” you asked, beyond embarrassed at the request. Your cunt in turn pulsed and flexed.

Toki laughed softly into your ear before he drew back. “Who knew sluts could learns manners?” Giving the ass cheek he’d grabbed a gentle pat and rub, you felt him beginning to push forwards into you. You went to grab his shoulders, but he grabbed your wrists again. “Don’t.” He commanded, and you weakened at the order.

“So obedients,” he praised as you felt his head open you open, slowly, slowly. Bigger than his fingers, he noticed your body begin to resist his and he grabbed the lube bottle again. Uncapping it with a thumb, holding it in one hand, he poured it over the visible part of his length for added yield. “You cans do it,” he cooed as he rubbed the warm gel into your sore ring. “You cans takes anythings I gives you, can’t you? Yous done so good.”

A strained, pitched whine left you.

Toki hilted in you fully, and your body struggled to accommodate him, breathing shallowly as your entrance stretched hot around him. It hurt, yes, but not unpleasantly. If this was a punishment anyway – didn’t you deserve a little pain? 

Didn’t your guilt _crave_ a little pain? 

“You likes what I says? What kind of filthy bitch are yous?” 

An _incredibly_ filthy one, you knew. 

He started to pull out by a few inches, before his hips snapped hard back against yours. Your eyes widened as your voice broke open in a silent cry. “Ams goings to let you have it,” he promised, repeating the motion, his hips rolling in and out of you, relishing your tight pull. “Likes you like it. A fats cock up your slutty ass.”

“Yes, Toki, _please_,”

“Thank me.” He demanded, his pace gaining zeal, his dark hair hanging in his face in a ragged current. 

“Th-thank you,” you answered. 

His eyes were on you again, and one of his hands worked its way to your throat, applying a gentle pressure as he held your jaw like before. “For what?” 

Your ass tightened around him and he groaned, slowing for only a moment, relishing the way he had to work at adjusting himself within your tight heat. “Thank you for fucking my ass, Toki.” 

Toki eyes were glazed as he watched you, often looking down to where your bodies joined, watching his cock impale itself in you again and again. “Yeah,” he groaned your name and one of your hands reached down to your still-twitching core, rubbing it for relief. “Ams fuckings you like you deserves.” 

“Uh huh,” you nodded stupidly, and Toki grabbed the wrist of the hand that pleasured yourself. 

“No,” he said again. So many ‘no’s’ from him. You cried out in frustration and he snickered at you, his hips slamming against your own. “You’ve cum enough.” 

Your other hand reached up and gripped up by the back of his hair, pulling him down to join you by the lips. You would have him kiss you, damnit, if he would deny you all else. 

Toki responded eagerly, your tongues finding one another as you connected deeply; fully. His heightened cries of pleasure reverberated in your own skull as he called out your name again and again into your mouth. 

With a hard bite against your lower lip, he came with a stifled cry, hips jerking inconsistently against your ass as you felt his warmth fill you. He went rigid, eyes shut before he buried his face against your neck. Powerful arms wrapped around you as his pumping grew slower, weaker and softer. 

When he pulled away, your mind and body was buzzing, confused and floating high above rational thought. All you could think about or want was Toki’s arms around yours, holding you with strength and security. “Stays here with mes,” he whispered against your cheekbone, and you nodded weakly, sinking against him. “Don’t go. Don’t’s goes.” 

Dipping in and out of throes of wanting sleep, you wondered if you were imagining the desperate way he plead to you. 

_Don’t go_. 

You wouldn’t go anywhere – at least not tonight. Each of your gelatin limbs sank inches into the mattress, wondering if you’d be swallowed by it like quicksand. “Ams goings to take care of yous,” he promised, his voice an echo as your mind fell further and further away from the realm of consciousness. 

“Ams going to take care of yous...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a long time coming! I hope you all enjoyed! Thanks for the feedback I received on the last chapter, I like hearing how you guys think of it!
> 
> As I mentioned last chapter, I'll be taking a mini break from this fic to launch my next one!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You join the band on their commercial shoot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW beginning!

You woke.

Your eyes opened, and you were awake. No transition softened your state between dream and reality. Your breath came in heavy surges as you stared up at the ceiling, models of planes hanging above you watchfully. Still. Silent. 

You were sure you had been dreaming, but of what? Your heart raced, but no lingering fear nor excitement clung to you. All you remembered last was Toki’s kisses to the side of your brow. 

Consciousness now settled back into your body, and you became more and more aware that you were feeling a little…_crusty_, to put it bluntly. And sore, at that. Toki’s grasping hands had been greedy and rough, his fingers punishing, and thrusts demanding. The whole encounter had been fast and fervent. Things had escalated quickly between you two, and you had been confronted with a side of him that you hadn’t been exposed to before.

Meeting Toki, his reputation had preceded him. In any television appearances or events, he was always seemingly easy going and lively. 

While you knew an on-camera personality was always part of a constructed veneer, you knew him now in person, and sweet he was. He had even apologized for stealing a kiss from you. 

So, when you’d seen Toki’s eyes darken with need, his purposeful grip manipulating your body to suit his next idea…it wasn’t the landscape of the Toki you had been coming to know, and that was thrilling. 

You started to feel the space between your thighs respond while thinking about it again. He’d been derogatory and careless, cornering you into a delectable cage constructed of the sexual tension and guilt that had been building in you. He used his strength and words to leave no suggestions about who was ruling the scene.

Toki had been decisive and wanting, and your body had wanted back.

Speaking of which, his hands were no longer on you. 

Last night, he had gathered you up in his arms to shower you with words of post-fuck affection. You had fallen away into dreams snug against his firm torso while sweat and sex dried against your cooling skin. 

Now, you no longer felt that comforting hold. 

Rolling over, you were met with the sight of his naked back towards you, his blanket low over his hips. 

It struck you. Your eyes were met with long, silken scars banded across the planes of his skin, partially obscured by his dark locks of hair. Your shoulders crawled with empathetic pain at the sight of them, though their pale, glassy sheen assured you they were long healed. 

You slowly reached out, unable to stem the urge to brush your fingers against them. He didn’t stir, his body rising and falling in rhythmic motions of sleep.

The scars looked like they had hurt to make. You wondered if they hurt at all, now. Wiggling a little closer, you put one arm around his waist as you curled up against him. Your cheek pressed against his middle back, beside your other palm.

You really liked him, you thought, feeling him breathe as your fingers ghosted each mark. You started to wonder if you would ever be close enough to him to know their stories, but as the thought passed, he began to shift against the mattress. You withdrew your touch while he settled onto his back.

Eyes still closed, Toki lifted his hands and rubbed at his eyes, slowly beginning to wake himself. Adorable noises sounded from the back of his throat as he stretched his arms above his head, finally opening his eyes to notice you.

“You’re still here,” He remarked, his morning voice thick and raspy. You nodded; whatever thought you were entertaining chased away by the curve of his sleepy smile.  
“Mhm,” you reached out again to push some of his bangs from his face. “Good morning.” 

“Mm, good morning.” Toki hummed as he turned onto his side so that he could put both his arms around you again. He pulled you snugly up against the center of his chest and kissed you on the lips once. “I enjoyed last nights. I hopes I wasn’ts too mean?” 

You shook your head, unable to look him straight in the eye. He had called you a _whore_, opened you up, forced a second orgasm out of you only to stonewall your third…but it was the kind of ‘mean’ you more than appreciated. You hoped you weren’t growing too red, but your silence about it made Toki nudge his nose against your cheekbone, layering it with kisses. “Was I?” He asked again, searching for your answer in words.

“No…” You answered, sheepish. 

“No? That’s good. Was I maybes too nice, then?” The smile in his voice more than evident, you giggled, wriggling away from the tickle of his mustache. Laying you back down on the bed, he propped himself above you, placing one of his hands beside your head. He began using his other to snake up underneath the shirt you had never taken off. One of his legs draped across your thighs, holding you in place while you felt the shape of his hardening length pressing into the side of your hip.

You didn’t move to stop him, allowing him to freely push your shirt up over your breasts, fondling them at his leisure. Your nipples peaked as the pad of his thumb dragged across them, transforming them into hard, erogenous nodes. 

“You’re heavy,” you complained, smiling up at him as the pleasure turned you from shy to coy. 

Looking down at the grid-lines of his own impressive abdomen, Toki scoffed. “Callins Toki fat?” He pinched the side of your rear and you squealed, smacking his hand, and earning his grin. 

“Obviously,” you joked, running your hands up along the shape of his tight pectorals, then over the dense slopes of his shoulders. 

Leaning down, Toki opened your mouth with his own, kissing you deeply while he continued to toy with your chest. He pinched one hard nipple, and you squeaked at the twinge of pain. In response, you felt him stiffen further against you, rolling the button of flesh between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Boy,” he groaned against your mouth. “I reallys wants’ta have fun with yous.” 

You were being pulled into his early morning arousal easily, your own memories of the night before having jump started your desires. “You’re pretty excited for a guy who just woke up…” You projected, as though you weren’t yourself. You rubbed your thighs together as your hands moved back to the landing pad of his chest. 

“How cans I helps it?” He argued. “Ams not the one with their tits outs, lookins all _kissable_.” 

“I’d beg to differ,” You couldn’t help but flick both of his nipples lightly to make your point, and he jerked back, one hand reflexively covering a nipple while he laughed.

Sitting up over you as each of his hands came up to cup your breasts again, and he massaged them between his fingers. “You’d _beg_? I wouldn’ts mind hearings that.”

Putting your arms up and around his neck, you combed your fingers through the tangles of his bedhead. You appreciated how it loosely spilled over his shoulders. “Kiss me?” You asked, smiling up at him. 

It wasn’t a beg, of course, and for a moment you thought he might deny you like he had last night and revel in your disappointment. But he didn’t. “I guess I should give you somethings for beings so good last night.”

Lowering with a grand smile, he kissed you again as your eyes shut. It was your turn to hold him close against you, indulging in the flex of his muscles under your fingers. His lips were soft, molded to yours with a tender guile that had been missed from the hot passion of the night prior. You sunk into the mattress, relaxing into the warmth of his mouth and his hands. 

As Toki slowly became your single focus, there was a knock at the door, and you both startled from the insular bubble you were crafting. 

Glancing up towards the entrance, Toki made a noise of dismissal and decidedly ignored it, turning his attentions back to you. He lowered his lips to your chest slowly, climbing over you so that his knees trapped your thighs between them. He sucked a pathway of kisses down the line of your cleavage and you massaged your fingers against the back of his scalp soothingly. You could feel the leaking head of his length prodding against your thigh whenever he would adjust himself.

Another knock, this time with gusto.

Toki’s eyes looked to the side, but his head didn’t turn. His mouth migrated over one of your breasts instead, capturing a nipple between his teeth. You gasped, your core flexing as he gently bit into your flesh. Rewarding your noise with the flat of his tongue over your areole, he pulled up for a just a moment, looking as though he were about to do the same with your other breast, but a third knock stopped him.

Finally, he pulled away from you, greatly annoyed as he grabbed his shirt from the floor. Using it to shield his boner from the door-knocker, Toki cracked the entrance open up hardly a few inches so he could peer around it. “Yes?” He asked. There was some mumbling, but you couldn’t discern any words, and the door shut again. 

Dropping the blanket and returning to the bed, Toki flopped over you quite dejectedly. He hooked an arm around your middle and cuddled into you, his face bearing a selfish sulk. “I has to go to some meeting,” he complained. “Guess I slepts in.” He looked over to a clock on his wall. You followed his eyes and saw that it was already _well_ into the afternoon; so well, it was practically time to go back to bed again. You were a little baffled, but you knew the sleep debt you had accrued over the last few days.

The arm around your middle fell a little so that Toki’s hand settled against your buttocks. “I’ll plans somethings funs for us to do next time,” Toki punctuated his words with a mischievous smile and a squeeze of your rear.

_Next time._ You loved to hear it. “What kind of fun?” you asked.

Toki reluctantly pulled off of you, his hardness having lost some lustre with the reality that he had stuff like _work_ to do.

Snatching a pair of plain black trousers out of a drawer, Toki shrugged at you, smiling. “Who knows? I has to get some things togethers. Oh, do you remembers wheres the shower is?” He asked, and you nodded, intrigued by his vague answer for you. Did he mean that he was going to take you out again, or that he had things planned for behind closed doors? 

“We will see each others soon.” It was more a sentiment than a promise, but he kissed you on the cheek before pulling a clean shirt over his head and disappearing out the door. “Remembers to eats your breakfasts!” 

\----

There wouldn’t be a lot of time to worry about what Toki might be planning for you, as you were pulled into a whirlwind of things to learn and start working on.

Your room had been reassigned. Moved from the guest room, you were put into an ‘employee wing’. Your things had been packed and delivered for you (much to your horror), lining the shelves and drawers of your new space. Still, it wasn’t so different from the guest room. A little smaller, but just as ordinary.

You spent a day shadowing a broad Klokateer that lead you around Mordhaus and its various departments. They also expanded on the conduct and on-site employee expectations that Charles had briefed you on before. The next day was spent watching hours of Facebones’ orientation videos, doing your best not to nod off while doing so. Even after it all, you felt that you’d only seen a fraction of the enormity of the landscape. 

The week was otherwise occupied with actual work. Andrew had left behind a comprehensive list of things that needed to be fixed or replaced, including the likelihood that a panel board in the studio would need to be taken off. He had noted specific dials and buttons where the hardware wasn’t performing as adequately. _’Convenient for him to have left that all for the new guy,’_ you mused, but you were glad to be busy. 

Best of all, your arm felt better and better over time. Although you’d never made it to any doctor, your recovery was speedy. You didn’t need the sling by the end of the week, but if you turned your arm a certain way your elbow hurt with a blunted pain. 

You chalked it up to a consequence of living. Sometimes you tear an ACL in senior year football, sometimes you almost drown to death in a river while tripping on mushrooms.

Not only were you tackling the projects Andrew had left behind, but you were able to troubleshoot the problem Nathan had with his microphone. Determining that it would be best to replace it over repairing it, you asked Charles who you should bring it up to about ordering new parts. He told you that you were empowered to make those choices, _’just make sure you submit the receipts,’_ he asked. You were giddy about it, taking your time to browse through catalogs that your University Radio club had only dreamt of ordering from. 

You had met up with the band a couple of times during the week when you’d been invited to watch some tv or play games, and neither Skwisgaar or Toki tried to lure you away at the end of these get-togethers. Not that you minded; it was fun just to spend time with everybody. Still, you noticed that one of the two would often find their way beside you, which you _also_ didn’t mind. 

You laughed with them, tussled with them. You blended in with their company, and the shell of your infatuated fanaticism sloughing away.

The night before the video shoot, you received an email from Charles running down how the day was going to look. It laid out where the boys were going to be and at what time regarding costumes, make up, and instrumental tune ups. Charles made sure to add that you wouldn’t be paid for this little field trip. You understood, as naturally you wouldn’t be working.

In the morning, you got ready in an outfit you thought would hopefully fit the set, pinning Toki’s ‘sound guy’ pin to your lapel. The gleam of the light over the glossy paint made your chest warm, still touched by the little gesture. You shared breakfast among other coworkers in the extensive break-room, sharing company with lab technicians and Klokateers that served in multiple areas. When finished, you were fetched to join the boys by the Dethlimo. 

Charles was there first, speaking with the driver. He greeted you with a handshake as you arrived. “It’s been a moment since we’ve been face to face. How are you settling in?"

“Pretty okay,” You said honestly. “It’s all a bit of a culture shock, but I’m liking it here.” It wasn’t so different than dorming.

“I’m glad. I know it’s all quite new, but I’m sure you’ll get used to it in time. Ah, and I trust you’ve read the email I sent?” 

“I did,” you answered as a cluster of voices caught your ear. Looking back towards Mordhaus, the boys were making their way down the winding path towards the Dethlimo.

“Great. That’ll at least make two of us.”

You smiled wryly at Charles. The band was engaged in conversation as they approached the vehicle together, and you gave them a wave hello. They responded with a round of ‘good mornings’ before jumping back into the thrall of their talk. 

“But seriously,” Pickles emphasized. “Two-dollar-Tuesdays! And it’s right down the road!” 

“I guess I haven’t played pool with anyone but you assholes in like, a year,” Nathan added agreeably, considering it. “I’m tired of winning against Murderface every time.” 

“_Every_ time?!” Murderface accused.

Nathan exasperated a long groan. “I didn’t say _every time_.” 

“You literally just said it!”

Toki jumped in, looking down at his phone. “Ands they looks like they has one of thems fake tattoos vendings machines!” He turned the screen to Skwisgaar. 

Skwisgaar, in turn, nodded. “I thinks I’s ams gettsking the horses.”

“I’ll be the ponies too ands we cans match!” Toki decided.

“No! I picksed it _first!_”

The driver left Charles’ side, moving over to the side doors of the limo and opening them up for the band. “As long as whatever you’re planning happens _after_ the shoot, then I don’t have any problem with it.” Charles offered his permissions – though nobody asked for them - as everyone but Nathan climbed in. 

“Hey. We’re not gonna skip out on the job just for some two-dollar cocktails. Show some faith.” Nathan asserted, and the two traded looks over the top of the car door. 

“And it’s not startin’ up until seven anyway!” Pickles barked from inside. Charles closed his eyes for a moment, perhaps counting to ten as Nathan ducked in to join the others. 

“Alright, after you, then,” Charles motioned for you, gentlemanly allowing you to get in first before he followed. The driver shut the door behind you both. 

You took a free seat by the door next to Murderface, sharing your side with him, Nathan and Pickles. You four sat across from Skwisgaar, Toki and Charles. The guitarists were leaning together over Toki’s phone, still talking about temporary tattoos they were keen on getting. 

“You’re coming along?” Murderface asked, as if he’d really just noticed you there, and you nodded. “Nice. Gonna be an extra or something? I heard they’re going to dress the girls up in these hot leather skirts.” He directed the last statement towards the group, more than to you. 

A little presumptive to think that you were coming on as some kind of extra or dancer, when you had been hired to take over audio problems, you thought. 

Nathan didn’t bother to chime in that he had been the one to invite you, busying himself with the mini fridge near the back of the limo. “She won’t be working,” Charles clarified on your behalf. “But Knubbler will be there, and I think it would be a good idea for them to get acquainted.” 

You swallowed a bit at the mention of Dick Knubbler’s name, a little surprised you were about to meet him. Charles had failed to mention that in the email. “Dick…Knubbler is going to be there?” You asked, voice cracking, betraying you. 

Charles nodded. “That’s right. He’ll be working with the commercial production team. He mentioned that he was looking forward to meeting you after we sent him the track.” 

You tried to ignore the pervading, icy anxiety, but you weren’t very successful. You knew you were no producer. While you could maybe throw your weight around enough to call yourself a half decent sound engineer, the technical aspect was where your talents shone best. You were _absolutely no producer_, especially for a label like Crystal Mountain. 

There hadn’t been any pressure when working with Nathan, but from what you’d heard from your professors and from industry gossip was that producers could be as protective over their work as a song artist themselves. You admired both him and Abigail Remeltindtdrinc for their work on Dethklok albums, and you would have felt devastated to make a bad impression of yourself. 

“But you know,” Pickles broke in, crooked smirk across his face as Nathan handed him a single-serving bag of chips. “If y’_want_ to be an extra I’m sure nobody would complain,” he winked to you. 

“Well, I’m sure the people who didn’t plan to costume and choreograph an extra body _would_ complain, Pickles.” Charles rejected. 

“Robot!”

Compared to other times with the group, the air in the limo was electric. Static building before a storm; it felt fresh and exciting. Everyone was ready to work – ready to _play_. There was some talking, but after a few moments, you watched as each bandmate slipped into a personal, pre-show routine. 

Predictably, Skwisgaar kept his guitar close at hand as he warmed his fingers up on along the frets. Pickles put in some headphones, connected to an mp3 player, practicing drumbeats with a pair of sticks against his knees. Occasionally he would whisper softly along to the beat, ‘_pa p-p-pa pa, d-d-dum, dum, dum_’. Murderface tucked in for nap, chin against his chest, snoring deeply. Toki fiddled around with his phone, playing games as chiptune noises of victory and defeat chirped his progress. Nathan was writing in a notebook much too small for his large hands, and Charles was similarly flipping through a digital planner. 

Dethklok before a show. 

Not a real show, but it _would_ be a real performance. All of them together, instead of isolated in their glass recording booths. 

You all arrived at the shooting location. The driver opened the door, and the group spilled out, led from the car and through a set of large double doors. You were met with a massive warehouse, black curtains and walls of green screen unrolled from floor to ceiling. Studio lights the size of bass drums towered over the primary filming area; mirrored sheets propped up beside them to adjust the glare angled at the center. 

In the spotlight, there was a burgundy stage shaped and decorated like a layered cake. Faux icing was painted in glossy black sheets over each tier, and large, round lights shaped like cherries were positioned carefully around the second layer. Large spikes protruded from each cherry, wires carefully concealed around the lowest tier and wrapped in black electrical tape. There was already a drum set prepared near the back of the stage, and you watched persons in black baseball caps haul wires and amps left and right. 

It was an impressive thing to behold, but almost more so, were the amount of people running around. Small handfuls of crew huddled together behind computers and cameras, others repositioning lights, or marking things off on clipboards. There was a giddy chill in your blood. This was the kind of person you were becoming. One of Dethklok’s people. 

“How cutes,” you heard Skwisgaar’s voice behind you and looked up over your shoulder. “Looks how starstrikkens she’s is.” His voice was intentionally patronizing, though lightly so while he smirked down on you. The whole of the band seemed to stand taller. The same atmosphere that was inspiring you breathed some arrogance into them, aware of their celebrity rights. 

“Ohhh, first time on set?” An unfamiliar, reedy voice interjected. When you looked to your other side, you recognized a person you’d never met. 

Dick Knubbler. 

Dressed head to toe in a dark emerald suit, black diamonds patterning it like snakeskin, he approached with arms open wide. “Well don’t worry your pretty little head, sweetheart. You can just join the other girls in the flex room and we’ll tell you where to stand, okay?” He looked you over with no subtlety. “Maybe we’ll think about letting you see the backroom where all the action happens, later.” 

Charles cleared his throat. “She’s uh, not one of the dancers. This is the new audio technician I told you about.”

“I’m just a ride-along, really,” you added nervously.

“Ohhh!” Knubbler exclaimed, his voice rolling up and down in interest, thin brows lifting above the rims of his round, violet shades. “So, you stepped in on the production over the commercial track, huh? Not too bad, you know, the compression was – well it was okay. Could be better, but in a pinch, I won’t complain about it.” Though, to you it sounded a little bit like he was complaining about it. “Good job keeping them in ship-shape, baby.” 

“Thanks,” you exhaled a shaky breath. Despite the underhanded compliment, you were over the moon. He didn’t say it was shitty, right? He sounded like he was going to use it as is, _right?_ The validation made you shine from inside out. “It’s great to meet you. I’m a huge fan.” 

Knubbler grinned, lips pulled tightly over his gums. “Aww, you’re right Skwisgaar, she’s cute as a button isn’t she?” He pinched one of your cheeks like a great aunt might, then put a hand on your lower back. “Well maybe while the boys are getting ready, I can give you the grand tour, how about that?” He never faulted away from the artificial, car salesman’s cadence, trying to tempt you with the invitation. 

“We’s ams goings to brings her with us!” Swkisgaar protested, crossing his arms across his narrow chest. Toki mimicked the blonde’s mannerisms as he nodded in staunch agreement, parroting a _’Yeah, she’s with us!’_.

“Okay,” Charles spoke up, putting a hand on one of your elbows to lead you away from Knubbler’s awkward touch. “Then take her into makeup. Just get in there so we can get you guys up on the stage for warm-ups, asap.” 

“I hate when you say ‘asap’,” Nathan groaned.

Satisfied, Skwisgaar and Toki stood on each side of you as you were all taken through a small door into a narrow space that reminded you more of a wide hallway than a room.

Small posses piloted the boys into their various places. Toki and Skwisgaar were ushered into seats positioned before lighted mirrors, hands armed with brushes and combs tackling their hair. Nathan and the others were taken instead to the other end of the room, clogged full of racks of clothing and pop-up stalls to afford the band privacy to change.

A curly-haired, older woman with a comb in her hand walked by and caught you in her periphery. She stopped short, mid-step, almost as though she recognized you. Her eyes went from your toes to your hairline, appraising you with cynical judgement. “Shouldn’t you be in the flex room with the other _extras?_” She asked with clear condescension. For all the band’s efforts in making you feel like you belonged with them, the experienced eyes of this industry veteran looked right through you. They knew a nobody when they saw one, you guessed, and you felt your pride had been chopped down right at the knees. 

“U-uh,” you stammered, trying to find your justification to why you were lingering so close to Dethklok.

“She ain’ts ans actors-lady!” Skwisgaar piped up, glancing over at you two. “She’s our guests?” His tone indicated a haughtiness that questioned the woman’s authority while he postured his own. It was her turn to look a little miffed, and she ducked her head. 

“I didn’t mean-“ she started to defend herself, but was cut off by Toki.

“Cans we gets her a chair?” He asked a separate artist, who rushed to find an extra folding chair for you to occupy while you waited for everyone to get ready. 

“Ands cans we gets some waters over heres?!” Skwisgaar added testily. “Whats is this, the Saharans Deserts?” Another pair of handlers ran off. Bottles and chairs were fetched, and you sat near, but not next, to the boys as they were crowded by the beauty team. You didn’t talk much, afraid to get in the way of others working.

The boys’ faces were made up in the same ghostly white corpse paint they often sported, though the messy smears of black around their eyes were accentuated with smoking, deep-wine hues. 

It made their blue eyes pop, like god-eye nebulas suspended in gaseous clouds of red hydrogen. 

One of the girls uncapped a bullet of black lipstick to apply to Skwisgaar. “Now that’s looking really nice on you,” she complimented, smile wide as she used a narrow brush to fill in the elegant curves and corners of his mouth. 

He eyed her back. “Takes a nice lookin’s girls to know.” His flirting set the nearest teammates by him into little trills of sparrow-like laughter. You couldn’t blame them, as you felt the same girlish excitement whenever Skwisgaar had passed that half-lidded look to you. Still, you didn’t _love_ to bear witness to him using the same charms on others.

While Skwisgaar flourished under the men and women who paid him many compliments and flattering offers, Toki was engaging his own make up artist in how the carmine in makeup was made of beetles.

“They get crushed up into pigment,” the artist explained. 

“Ands thens its puts on your _eyes?_” Toki awed, aghast.

The artist shrugged. “Sure, and in lipstick and other makeup.”

“Well _that’s_ brutal.”

They were distracted, so you thought you might distract yourself. Besides, working on a set like this had always been a fantasy of yours. While the boys were engrossed, you couldn’t help but get up and meander around the costume hall and among the silver racks of outfits. One was labelled with a sign, the penmanship fat and clear; _‘Leathers.’_

Skimming through it curiously, most of the clothes looked the same. Various harnesses and leather trousers that differed only by length and how many zippers or spikes adorned them hung on plastic hangers. You pulled one from the rack. It was a torso harness with straps that clasped around the waist and the neck, the leather bands hooked to metal rings. It was hard to tell what shape the straps were supposed to make around the body the way you were holding it, tangling them together.

“Ooh, nice pick!” Someone joined you. When you looked up, you recognized the girl speaking to you as the flirty one who had done Skwisgaar’s make up. She stuck out her hands, and you offered her the harness. She turned it around until it came properly together, holding it up for you to gander at its shape. “There’s a pentagram that should lay over the sternum here, and then these two triangles are where your boobs would go,” she held it up against herself. “You have good taste. I bet it would look great on you.” 

You laughed, though if you had to admit, it did catch your eye. “Well, maybe not with my tits just like, hanging out there for the world to see.” 

“Well,” the girl said thoughtfully. “What if like,” she lowered the harness as she began to rifle around another rack next to the leather. It was full of plain and unassuming clothes. White t-shirts, black tank-tops, and the like. She fished out a deep red body suit and handed it to you. It was cut like a plain, one-piece swimsuit, with a small metal push-clasp near the crotch to secure it shut. “What about wearing this underneath? Or I mean, just a bra would be fine, too. Then for the bottom….” 

The girl, inspired, turned away back towards the leather. She snatched out a pair of very, _very_ short leather…shorts. If you imagined yourself wearing them, you could figure they would only be an inch or two down past your hips. Attached to them with silver fasteners was a leather girdle that could be strapped around the upper thighs.

“Why don’t you put them on?” She suggested, and you instinctively shook your head. 

“I don’t know about that,” you laughed shyly. 

“Why not? You’ll look awesome! You’d probably have to change in the custodian closet, though, if that’s okay.” 

Looking at the clothes in her hands, you thought about it. You didn’t want to look _silly_ wearing this around the warehouse, nor did you want to be unprofessional – but hey, you weren’t working, were you? Charles wasn’t paying you to be professional, so you let yourself be convinced. “Alright,” you gave in. “It might be cute…” 

“Trust me, it _will_ be cute.” 

She brought you to an unmarked door, opening it up to reveal a small, dark room with several shelves stocked meagerly with cleaning supplies. You stepped in, sharing your space with a yellow mop bucket, murky black water swilling near the bottom corners. The girl pulled a string above you and an orange light-bulb sprung to sputtering life. “I’ll just be out here,” she let you know, and closed the door.

_Click_

Dread crowded your senses immediately, and you swung around to grab at the knob. Rattling it, your fears were validated as the door remained stubbornly stuck. 

Locked. 

_’Seriously?!’_ You thought to yourself. _’Who does that?! Is this middle school?’_ You heard sharp laughter on the other end, beginning to fade as it was carried away by footsteps. 

“Hey!” You shouted, hitting the door with the flat of one palm. “Hey!! Don’t fucking leave me in here! Are you serious, man?! Dude! What the fuck!” 

What kind of high school prank was this supposed to be? You could kick yourself. _Stupid! Who just gets in a closet because someone says so!_ Apparently, you do.

You hit the door several times, but it was thick and heavy. A warehouse door, in a warehouse. Who could have guessed? It didn’t even rattle in its hinges as you struck it. You shouted, of course, hoping someone would be walking by that would hear you. 

But nobody did. 

Crowded places were _loud_, after all, and you were probably heavily muted by the door itself, as well as the noise of chatter and sprinting go-fers.

You buried your face in your hands for a moment, trying to keep at bay the anxiety that stung your eyes with hot, embarrassed tears. It would be stupid to be rescued by one of Dethklok, and at the same time you felt that one of them might be the only ones who’d care to; who might notice that you were even missing at all. 

_Whoa, calm down, cowboy._

You closed your eyes. You were starting to get ahead of yourself. You’d only been stuck for a minute, at most, and you were already on the verge of a meltdown. It wasn’t like you were going to _starve_ in here. 

_Oh God, at least I hope not!_ You countered, internally.

You needed to refocus yourself. Nobody was going to be fishing you out of here while they were busy, so you’d just have to wait it out. Moping and panicking wasn’t going to do you any good. Sighing with frustration, you turned back to assess the closet, taking in the rags and chemicals that lined the walls. You wondered if you might be able to jam something in the door and MacGyver it open, but there wasn’t much that looked very useful. A box of disposable rags, steel polish spray…yeah, not exactly thieves’ tools.

You looked at the outfit, which you had abandoned to the floor once you realized you’d been trapped.

_Might as well, right? _

If nothing besides killing some time, you might at least decorate your misery up. 

It took you a minute to get all the straps situated, but everything fit fine. There was no mirror, but looking down at yourself you admired the flattering effect of red and black against your skin. The body suit hugged you fittingly, the harness painting bold lines around your chest and over your clavicle. Whatever feelings you might have had about showing your body, you felt great. The shorts lifted your rear, the garter making you feel sensual while strapped around your upper thighs.

One of your favourite touches, besides perhaps the shape of the pentagram, was the studded harness band around your neck. The silver ring that held it together landed perfectly at the dip in your throat. 

Lastly, you transferred Toki’s pin to one of the shoulder straps of the body suit. 

Then you sat, and you waited. Occasionally you would knock or kick at the door, shouting out, “Hello? Hey! I’m in here!” But nobody came to your rescue. You weren’t sure how long you were trapped in there, but time moved slowly. You had your phone with you, but you hadn’t actually collected any of the band’s numbers. Not even Charles’. 

At least you could try and beat your high score at ‘snake’.

You had no idea how much time went by, but you sure had to pee.

When the door finally opened, you were dully kicking the bottom of it. Your head lifted as light spilled in. You heard a gasp, and you recognized the curly-haired, older woman in the door as the one who’d first called you out as an extra.

“Whoa! How did _you_ get in here?” She looked at your outfit, confused as to why you had gotten into a costume if you _weren’t_ one of the background characters.  
“Some girl locked me in here,” you remarked bitterly. “She gave me these clothes and told me to try them on.” 

You sounded more woeful than you intended, but being bullied like a middle schooler on a film set _had_ slighted your pride. The woman smiled a little, as though finding your upset amusing. 

“Well, I mean, you do look good! What’s with the shoes, though?” You both looked to your feet. You were wearing your plain, everyday shoes, looking a little silly against the image of your gartered legs. “I bet we can find you some boots. Come here.” With her fingers she coaxed you to stand, helping you out of the closet. “And can you hand me that cloth over there? I have counters to clean up.” 

Giving her a cloth, she took you over to an area with a few fold-out chairs for staff to sit and rest their legs. She sat you down and put up her finger to tell you she’d be a moment. Looking around, you noticed that almost everyone that had been in the room earlier was gone. There were a few stragglers, cleaning up, but no others. Faintly, you thought you could hear drums, but the sound would break, then come back in. Was the band practicing?

When she returned, she was carrying a makeup kit and plastic bag in one hand, and a pair of boots folded over her other forearm. “How are you feeling?” She asked.

“A little dumb,” you answered honestly, taking the boots as she offered them. Kicking off your shoes to tug them on, the woman set the makeup kit down and stepped back into the custodial closet to gather your other clothes into the plastic bag. 

“I would too if I got locked in a closet,” she agreed.

If it was meant to be a comforting statement, it didn’t help. You sulked further. “Oh come on,” she continued. “Stop pouting. It’s funny! You’re Dethklok’s guest, aren’t you? I would be over the moon if it were me. Now you have a good story!”

“I have plenty of those already,” you sighed, but you inhaled and decided to buck up. 

“Why don’t I do your make up?” She spread her hands. “I’m sure that’ll make you feel better.” Setting the bag of your stuff beside you at the chair, she picked up the make up kit and sat in an adjacent seat. 

She had a point, you thought. And more than being a guest, you were working, living _and_ fucking with them. Very literally. “And let me give you some free advice,” she continued as she pulled out a bottle of moisturizer, squeezing out a dollop into her fingers. “If you’re going to hang around guys _this_ popular in _this_ music genre, you’ll need to develop some thicker skin.” 

You frowned, stiffening a bit at the criticism, but she was a little right. You were so shy around everyone, so unsure of what you were doing or how to jump in. It would have to be something to work on. “Well, thank you for getting me out of the closet. You didn’t seem like my biggest fan earlier, either, no offense.” 

“Well, I thought you were some nosy dancer trying to get a peek at the band,” she smiled, and you snorted. 

“Makes sense.” Knubbler had assumed the very same, after all. 

You were at her mercy for the next hour. She applied heavy liner around your eyes, mascara, and a dark red lip while you two chatted together. By the end, you were at ease again, and she lifted up a hand mirror so you could get a good look of yourself. You looked wicked. Very Elvira, or Halle Berry’s cat woman. 

“Well?” She asked. 

“Not bad at all!” You complimented, admiring yourself, using your fingers to fix your hair. “Thank you so much!” The look boosted your confidence. Even if the other girl had meant to be malicious, she _did_ pick out a nice outfit. 

“Now,” the woman looked down to a watch on her wrist. “They should be almost ready to shoot.”

“What?!” You gapped. “How long was I in there?”

“I don’t know. When did you get _put_ in there? Anyway, you probably want to be around for the main course, huh? I mean, even if you don’t, _I_ do.” She snapped the makeup kit closed. “I’ve still got some things to clean up, but why don’t you go on ahead? They should be right out the door there.”

You thanked her again, both of you getting up from the chairs and taking your leave.

Pushing open the door of the costume area, you looked back and forth, trying to regain your bearings. You’d spent the majority of your time in the closet, but the warehouse was really just one big square, and all the lights called you to where the shooting would take place at the cake stage. You wouldn’t have any time to feel self conscious in your outfit, either, as you noticed many extras, girls and boys alike, dressed in scanty leather outfits of their own. The noticeable difference was they were made up to look like zombies, but you still felt that you blended in.

Finding the band easily, you saw that Toki and Skwisgaar sat along the steps of the stage, everyone else scattered atop it during their warm-up. The two guitarists were running through the song, playing their respective parts. You had listened to it a hundred times over while watching over Nathan’s recording, and you started to bob your head along to the familiar pace as you approached. 

“Ja, that’s right,” Skwisgaar nodded as their fingers jumped along the fretboard in unison. Their arms worked in harmonic tandem, pinning the strings in complex chords, expertly bending the whammy bar. When they both stopped, Skwisgaar hadn’t commanded it, but rather they both instinctively knew that it was time to stop. Something telepathic; synchronized and connected to each other. “Let’s plays it back again, ats the hook.” 

Toki nodded, and they did. You could have hummed along, but the sound changed. You noticed that Skwisgaar began to ad-lib, and Toki improvised half a breath after. Still together with the overall structure of the song, they each began to play each other up a little, working with one another. Toki intuitively rhymed with Skwisgaar’s impromptu ostinato, and soon they were both wearing easy smiles, tapping their feet together. 

“That’s good,” Skwisgaar approved. They didn’t stop this time, instead playing into the rest of the song, mostly following the original melody you recognized. You stayed back a few feet, worried that if you strayed too close they might break from their concentration. Besides, they weren’t just a feast for the ears, but the _eyes._

The whole band was dressed in dark leathers and spiked accessories. Each had a splash of red that made them stand out from the rest, though Toki and Skwisgaar were more red than black, including their matching boots and jackets. Skwisgaar’s outfit was belted tighter around the waist, you noticed, while Toki’s sported spiked spaulders.

When they did come to rest in their playing, it was Toki who noticed you first.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed, his eyes hitting you before bounding up from where he sat, guitar in hand.

“Oh, _hello,_” Skwisgaar overlapped Toki’s yelp though he remained seated. His eyes dragged over your exposed thighs, and the buckles along each of your bootstraps.

“You’re wearings the presents!” Toki said next as he came up to you.

Glancing down at it, he pulled the shoulder strap up a little so he could see it better. “Of course. You made it for me.” Looking back to him, you saw his eyes and smile were both soft and vulnerable, moved by what you said. You couldn’t help but smile, too.

“Nice!” You heard Pickles interrupt behind him. “See? This is what I was _talkin’_ about! Nobody’s gonna complain about a girl walkin’ around dressed like that! Or like them!” Hopping down the steps to join you, Pickles pointed back to the zombie extras. “You’re looking better than we are.”

“Speaks for yourselves,” Skwisgaar added with a snort. “Nots alls of us were dressed like dildos.”

Pickles rolled his eyes and turned to you instead, seeking some validation. “Well what do _you_ think?” 

“You look good!” You reassured him. However, you couldn’t deny that the two guitarists were very lovely to look at. While that was true most of the time, it felt especially so now, dressed up impishly. “But I’m a little biased.”

Pickles threw his hands up. “Hey! No fair!! I can play guitar too, you know!” 

“Buts is yous the _fastest_ guitarist?” Skwisgaar poked. 

“Ands ares yous a greats converskationgalisps?” Toki added.

Pickles furrowed in confusion. “Did you mean…_conversationalist?_” 

”Ands is you _tall?_” Skwisgaar went on. 

“Ands dids you knows red makeups is mades of crushed _bugs bodies?_” Toki finished.

Pickles head kept volleying between the two, though everyone turned to Toki. “What? Toki, what the fuck, where do you _learn_ stuff like that?” 

Skwisgaar started to laugh, but before anything else could be said you were all interrupted by the approach of Charles and Knubbler.

“You boys ready?” Asked Knubbler.

“Fucks yeah!” Toki lifted his guitar, firing off an excited riff.

“Well that’s good guys, because the director wants to start in ten.” Explained Charles. 

The three of them nodded, and Toki looked down to you. “Wells, I guess you better scrambles.” 

Skwisgaar clapped Toki on the shoulder twice, before they all turned to go back to the top of the stage. 

You in kind followed Knubbler and Charles to an area out of the way, huddled behind one of the cameras.

Grips, booms and other essential production staff took over the main-spaces, whispering amongst themselves as everyone finished their preparations.

There was the sound of a switch, and the lights fell red. An eerie glow flooded the set, and you looked to the band. You couldn’t say why, but the hair on the back of your neck began to stand, and, counted in by a stagehand, Dethklok began to play. 

Pickles smashed in enthusiastically, his sticks cracking down on the cymbals in sharp breaks while William mixed himself in after the opening punch. Skwisgaar and Toki followed after, galloping over the percussion together. It was a strong start, and you watched as another employee cued the extras into the shot, having them run in over green ‘X’s’ taped to the floor. 

Nathan began to sing.

Your pupils dilated as his rumbling voice shook the room in a dramatic roar. The bandmates lit up in your vision like beacons; you felt that they were glowing in your growing fixation. The extras made a dramatic show of trying to climb the cake stage, reaching out with desperate hands towards Nathan and the others.

_’Put Hansel in the kiln,’_ Nathan bellowed, the start of the hook. You sucked in a breath. 

Somewhere off in the background, one of the plugs to an amp had come loose, and the prongs jerked and sputtered in its slot.

_’Eat!’_

White sparks cracked and smoked as electricity jumped and surged from the outlet in short forks.

_’Eat!’_

Fire erupted unseen within the wall. It spread quickly through the narrow passages, eating at the dry wood and asbestos. 

_’Gretel, meet your doom,’_

You watched Skwisgaar and Toki effortlessly flip their pickup switch without missing a beat, and your heart caught in your throat. The fire lapped its way into the smaller closets and peripheral rooms of the warehouse. Costumes lit, erupting into blazes.

_’So stuff your face with Rocker Cakes,’_

Smoke began to fill the room, but you didn’t think much of it, passing it off as a dry ice machine. Vaguely, you were aware of the smell of burning wood, like a campfire, but you were wholly enraptured by the performance before you. 

It was Dethklok live.

_’And the witch will cook you too!’_

You always heard it was magic. Always heard it was like being put under a spell, and now you were verily taken, Nathan roaring into the mic as Pickles continued to slam hard on his drums. Murderface’s broad hands worked his bass, splattered with red paint that framed him menacingly. 

And of course, Toki and Skwisgaar. Candles of red at the top of the cake, you could watch them forever. Watch them as their heads thrashed together, as they bled their strings open together. 

Not even when an alarming pop, accompanied with the explosive sound of shattering glass pulled you away. Only when a hand at the back of your harness yanked you back, hard, were you snapped from your reverie. The square shape of a ceiling light came swinging down in front of you, and your heart dropped into your gut.

It had nearly hit you. The light chaotically swung in unpredictable directions as you were led further back from the danger. Looking up, you realized the hand of your saviour had been Charles. “Oh my god, th-thank you!” you stuttered, adrenaline magnifying your heartbeat into your ears. His grip never loosened as he marched you quickly away.

Looking behind you, you saw that Dethklok was also being ushered off the stage by darkly cloaked Klokateers. 

Where had they come from?

Smoke was now pumping into the warehouse at a steady volume, and finally a fire alarm broke, sounding throughout the echoing space. People started to panic, clamouring around as fire drill lessons were largely abandoned. 

“No thanks necessary,” Charles answered you as he led you right out the double doors you’d come in, his hand a vice at your back, pace quick. “I know a few people who would be very disappointed if anything were to happen to you. Again.” 

“We’re definitely going to lose our deposit on the space,” Knubbler sighed to himself, following behind the two of you. You’d nearly forgotten he was there. 

The doors were already open, some staff having pooled outside already, prompting the blue-black clouds to escape. 

Once the three of you were a safe distance away from the entrance, Charles released you. “My apologies for dragging you around.” 

Shaking your head and hands, you thought that while maybe he had been moving a couple paces faster than what you were used to, he saved you from serious injury. “That’s fine! Like I said before, thank you for pulling me out of the way.”

Charles nodded curtly in response, and he and Knubbler turned to each other, talking amongst themselves in serious voices.

There was a lot of chaos pouring out of the entrances of the studio. Most of the film crew started to huddle by a big yellow ‘MUSTER’ sign in the car lot. Smoke continued to pump endlessly out of any points of release. In the distance, you could already hear the drone of firetrucks rolling down the freeway in response. 

You looked around for the band, but with no obvious sign of them yet, you turned nervously back at Charles and Knubbler. 

Charles was now on a cellphone, speaking lowly into it. Knubbler noticed your uneasy glancing. “You alright?” 

“I think so…I’m just getting a little worried about the guys.” 

“Oh they’re going to be fine, sweetheart, I think Charles is on the phone with them right now.” 

Charles snapped his phone shut. “I was,” he answered on cue. “They’re around the back. They’ll be picked up by the car, and then us.” 

You nodded. Despite all that went on, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed that everything had been cut short. The singing in your blood had felt so in touch with the song. The vibrations of the rhythm in the floor, up your legs…

At least everybody was alright. Or, at least from what you knew. If you searched among the faces of crewmates, you weren’t sure you could recognize the curly-haired woman who’d helped you out, nor the face of the girl who locked you in the closet. 

The dethlimo soon pulled up behind you, and one of the tinted windows rolled down. The five faces of the band were all huddled together by it, peering out like children spying around a doorway. “It’s nine o’clock!” Pickles announced. “Shootin’s over! Now its haaaaappy hooouuur!”

“Shouldn’t we wait here until the fire department arrives?” You asked.

“The opposite, actually. We better get out here before they show up or we’re going to be trapped here for hours,” Nathan suggested.

Murderface gestured wildly at you to get in as Toki opened the limo door. The loop of sirens grew closer, and Toki reached out to you. You were going to look at Charles and ask if it was alright, but you reminded yourself;

_You weren’t even working._

Grabbing Toki’s hand, he tugged you in and Skwisgaar shut the door as the limo began to pull away from the curb. Everyone was spirited and careless, their conversation trading between being very confident in their performance, and how they felt they’d done enough work today for a lifetime. 

“What about the fact you guys uh, didn’t finish filming?” You had to ask.

“That’s what they pay editors for!” Murderface shouted and from the mini fridge he pitched Nathan a beer. 

The bar was up the road, like Pickles had said, so it took no time to get there. When the driver stopped and popped the door, you saw that the bar was everything you had hoped for. Dingy, cheap yellow light flickered out of the square window mullions. Old bikers loitered around their bikes in the parking lot, smoking and catching up.

Some curious eyes checked out the limo, frowning at the band. If the car wasn’t strange enough, everyone was still in costume. If they did or didn’t recognize Dethklok, nobody came up to bother the group as you all made your way inside, though you could hear a few whispers. The tables were full, but the bar was mostly free. Claiming five stools up at the front, you took your spot at one end of the line, sandwiched between Toki and a stranger sporting an orange bucket hat.

“Wheres were you the whole times anyway?” Toki asked.

“I was locked in a closet,” you answered, your voice a little low with your embarrassment as Nathan ordered shots for the group. 

Toki laughed, bewildered. “How’d you lock yourself in a closet?” 

“_I_ didn’t lock myself anywhere. Someone else did, one of the make up girls.” 

Toki frowned, “What? Why woulds they dos that. Did they forgets you in there?” 

You pressed your lips together, “No, I’m pretty sure it was intentional.” 

“Womens is ams like the savage wolves, Tokis,” Skwisgaar spoke as he leaned forward on the bar, semi sagely, semi comedicaly. “Cannibals wolves that’s eats each other alives.”  
Bucket-hat man was starting to engage in an argument to your side with another grizzled, older man with a black skull bandana strapped around his forehead. Voices were rising between them, but not enough to discern what the argument was about; just that they were growing steadily agitated. You had the mind to turn further away from them. You didn’t need to look like you were eavesdropping. 

“I guess I’ll take being called a cannibal wolf as a compliment,” you mentioned. Two shots were sent your way and you clumsily caught them. The fiery vapor of what you knew too well as cheap whiskey met your olfactory senses. The other, after raising it to your nose, you guessed to be pickle brine. 

Toki’s shots were passed to him. “Yous not really a cannibals wolfs though, you’re more like…” 

“A cubs-puppy.” Skwisgaar finished, and the two laughed at your expense. 

“Hey! I think I’ve been bullied more today than I was in eighth grade,” you complained as the group tipped back their drinks. You followed suit; the unforgiving burn of the amber alcohol palatably chased away by the sharp, vinegary brine. 

Murderface coughed as he slammed his glass down on the bar dramatically. “Hooo! That’s not great for the ulcer.” Balling up a fist, he pounded his sternum before leaning forwards to get a look at you. “I guess Toki isn’t the baby anymore with _you_ around.” 

“Ams nots no baby! Fucks off!” Toki defended, and you laughed with the group. 

Amid the fun conversation, you were reminded of the argument behind you as another man joined in. You glanced back, noting that he was dressed similarly to the bandana man. He swayed where he stood, red-nosed and drunk.

_’Great,’_ you thought. 

“If you’re not a baby then why do you always have to put bugles on your fingers?”

“Cause I wants to pretends to be likes the Freddy Kroger guy! What’s babies about that?!” 

You couldn’t help but emend, “_Krueger_.”

“Yeah,” Nathan agreed on the other end, leaning back in his stool so he could add to the conversation. “Bugle-fingers is great. That’s just good, clean fun. What’s baby about that?” 

As Pickles took the mantle to order another round for the group, you smiled. You were feeling silly for having ever been upset about being locked in the closet in the first place. What was there to feel insecure about? _You_ were the one at the bar with them, as not just their guest, but a friend.

“This givings me an ideas,” Skwisgaar also leaned back, a little further out than Nathan. “We’s gets ice cubes with the holes in thems and wes can pretends we ams the frost giants!” 

“Haha!” Toki nodded his head and turned excitedly to the bartender. “Yeah! Lets gets six beers please!” 

“We only have ice in cubes,” the bartender responded gruffly. “You still want ‘em?” 

Skwisgaar scoffed indignantly. “What?! Whats kindsa bar ams is this!” 

The group joined in on light-hearted banter with the bartender, who kept his grim, unbothered expression. You were all turned away, unaware of how the argument to the other side of you had escalated. There was a shove, at first, one no one noticed, and then - 

Then the punch came out of nowhere. 

It completely blind-sided you, literally. There was a shooting pain that cracked through the lower left side of your jaw, near the back of your head. Your vision tunneled dark around you as you tried to remain upright and aware as you felt yourself crumple towards the bar. Adrenaline pulsed through you, and you tried to manage your grip on what had happened as stinging tears hit the corners of your eyes. 

But before you could even think _‘what the fu-‘,_ A limb was thrust past your head on your other side. It was Murderface. He’d put a leg up on the bar and lunged past you and Toki to attack the attacker. 

You were met with the sight of his wrinkled elbow as his own fist came in quick contact with the person who’d hit you. You turned your head to the left, deliriously, as you felt hands grab you to move you away. 

Bandana man was hit deftly by Murderface. The bucket-hat man had his hands over his head, the likely target of the punch that had struck you, but he’d ducked away off his stool.

You saw it in a blink; the argument, the accident - but with Murderface’s immediate reaction, the room exploded. 

Just as you thought, it was the kind of bar where the same people showed up on the same days. There were friends and loyalties within the room before you and Dethklok had ever rocked up to the place. The bar divided accordingly, and your third party threw in a wild card. It was Skwisgaar who had grabbed you away from the brawling men, and you watched Toki jump in after William as the banada-man’s drunk friend fisted the back of Murderface’s vest, attempting to sucker him in the gut. 

Toki grabbed hold of the drunk, hooking his strong arms under the stranger’s underarms, locking his fingers behind the guy’s head. He held him securely so that Murderface could gain the advantage, and the man was struck decisively twice across the nose by the bassist. Soon intervened on by two other men sporting impressive handle-bar moustaches, their beer-branded trucker hats knocked eschew in the chaos. 

“Its gettins alls fuckeds up in heres!” Skwisgaar exclaimed, voice reflecting your inner worry, though pain throbbed on the side of your head. He looked down at you. “Oh shits, yours nose is all bleedins.” 

“We need to get the fuck out of here,” Nathan recommended, appearing at Skwisgaar’s side, before a man with visor sunglasses cracked him across the back with one of the bar stools. 

Nathan turned, slowly, his bulk looming over the biker. 

“You should learn who you’re fucking with,” the singer warned, before grabbing a pint off a table to smash into the side of the biker’s head.

Your vision blacked in and out, confused by the noise, feeling overtly threatened by the flying bottles of liquor and brawling bodies. 

Mirroring what Charles had down, Skwisgaar’s long limbs pulled you along his side as he navigated you both out of there. Once you had been grabbed by the back of your collar, but a rival gang member gripped their hair and pulled them off.

The pair of you escaped through the entrance, bumping into a few motorcyclists as they pressed inward to join the commotion.

“Shits was gettings pretty wilds in there!” Skwisgaar looked back over you both, watching a chair fly from one of the windows. “Yous okay?” 

You weren’t sure, you vision blackening and coming back in. You could stand alright – you weren’t sure you would faint or anything, but your sight wasn’t fairing you well. “I think- I don’t know. It hurts.” You were probably crying; you could feel the heat on your face, but the shock absorbed most of your reaction.

Skwisgaar’s hand held you around your head, cradling it gently as he held you. “Gonna pass out?” He asked. 

“No,” though you did feel a little sick. “I just…everything is sort of spinning.” The fight was white noise to you, instead leaning into Skwisgaar’s hold on you, relying less on your legs as you pressed your forehead into his chest.”

Things were quiet as you regained your bearings.

“You look nice,” was the first thing that Skwisgaar said to break the quiet between you two. 

You had almost forgotten that you’d been made over, and looked down at yourself. You figured with the studio catching on fire and everything, you probably wouldn’t have to return the outfit either. “I guess with a little professional work I don’t turn out too bad, huh?” 

“You looks nice withouts alls it toos,” Skwisgaar didn’t falter. “Doesn’t means you don’t looks _very_ nice now.”

You laughed tiredly. “Thanks. You’re a smooth criminal. No wonder so many people are after you.”

Skiwsgaar laughed deep in his chest, his lips unparting as the sound shook his torso. “Dids you feel upset that’s we was not paying attentions to yous?” By the lilt of his voice you knew he was goading for a compliment, and you cheekily decided not to play into it.

“I can’t be angry at her for wanting to do something that I uh, already got to do. She can stay mad.” Who was being held by Swisgaar right now, after all?

Skwisgaar looked somewhat miffed that he didn’t get the answer he would have preferred, but he nodded along anyway. “Will you be free ons this weekends?” He asked, taking you a little off guard. 

“Hm? Uh, yeah I guess. I don’t really have anything planned.” Now that you were staying at Mordhaus, it was more difficult to try and arrange plans with your friends. You couldn’t just hop an easy bus out of there and go party on the weekend. Mordhaus wasn’t in the middle of nowhere, you discovered, but it was enough out of the way that you needed a car to get anywhere interesting. 

“I woulds like to takes you someplace, Friday.” 

You were surprised until you remembered that he had said something to that effect a little while back. That he was interested in taking you out some place. If you were honest, with everything that had happened from your first night to now, you had completely forgotten. It was a boost to think that Skwisgaar had been the one to remember.

He smiled. “You looks happy.”

Realizing you were glowing, you laughed awkwardly. “Oh! I mean, I guess I am. Where were you thinking of taking me?” 

He chuckled, the sound low and warm in his throat. “Secret. I thinks you will enjoy.” 

“Is it dancing?” You joked. 

He raised his brows, amused, and he shrugged enigmatically. “Maybes. Maybes not.” 

You heard commotion behind you, and you saw several people being thrown from the bar, the rest of Dethklok among them. 

“Yeah, and you can suck my Irish dick, too!” Pickles shouted as he stumbled up from the ground, throwing a shot glass that he had in his hand which shattered off the side of the building. Murderface joined in, grabbing a handful of grass and dry dirt from the ground instead. Other brawlers continued to grapple outside. Toki’s nose was bleeding, and one of Murderface’s eyes looked as though it was beginning to swell shut. 

Nathan, however, looked alright, though he irritably was rubbing the back of his head, hair unkempt and hanging in front of his face.

“Fuck your Tuesdays! Fuck your two dollars!!” Pickles continued ranting, and Skwisgaar started to reach for his phone. 

“We should get the fucks out of heres,” he repeated Nathan’s comment from earlier, while you watched Murderface pull off one of boots to throw at an anonymous wrestler.

The night didn’t last much after, Klokateers arriving to end the party and haul Dethklok unwillingly into a car to take them home. Toki and Murderface were taken to be looked at once you arrived home, and everyone else felt the mood had died enough that it really just felt like a great time to go to bed.

While you might have spent your night thinking about the coming days, and what Skwisgaar would have planned for you, Toki would be the one to knock on your door the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting!!! This took really long because i am a lazy person :^) I hope you liked it!! I know this chapter is kind of everywhere but oh well!!


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